“H’m--h’m!” said he. “They are getting rather fussy about it downstairs, and inclined to be nasty.” He assumed an editorial manner and continued: “We regret to state that there has been marked uneasiness at Messrs. Rollit’s typewriting offices owing to the fact that Miss Julia Wynne has not been heard of for the last hour; and this conduct, which might have passed unnoticed in any ordinary female clerk, has caused considerable anxiety in the office where she usually carries on her avocation, for, owing to the regular habits and exemplary conduct of the young person in question, the half-starved beauty of whose Burne-Jones-like profile----” “We have not yet thrown the office ink-pot, Oliver!” said Netherby Gomme grimly. Noll, guarding his head with his arm, peered out from beneath his elbow: “No--but really, Netherby, it was beastly hard luck her being out. I like to go and gaze at her. She has such a jolly nice mouth. I should like to kiss it--it would do her a lot of good....” He disappeared over the stool. “Shut up!” he shouted. “Put it down and I’ll chuck it. I say, Netherby,” he added confidentially, coming out into the open and disarming resentment by trusting Gomme’s honour; “I saw a ripping girl to-day. She gave me quite a thrill.” Gomme sat back in his chair: “Indeed, Noll!” said he, putting his fingers together, elbows on chair-arm--“this is most interesting.... What age was the lady?” “Oh, quite twelve or thirteen. None of your Burne-Jones-like----” He ducked his head under his arm and made for his desk backwards. He scrambled on to his stool as he saw that the other was not for war: “No; she _was_ a girl, that! Rich warm hair--reddish. Plumpish. Jolly way of walking....” He paused for a moment and added critically: “She went off a bit in the legs--but--they mostly do at that age.... I offered her chocolates.... She sniffed.” “Not very encouraging, Oliver!” “It _was_ rather a blow,” said Noll. “But I think a woman ought to be offish at first. I don’t like ’em too easily captured myself.” “May I ask,” said Gomme grimly, “if she be a lady of position?” “Well--her antecedents are somewhat humble. Her father is a--well--he’s a butcher. But every tragedy should have comic relief--shouldn’t it, Netherby?” Netherby Gomme shook his head solemnly where he sat: “Noll, you are very, very old. Let us try to be young again.” “It’s so beastly slow being young,” grumbled Noll. “When I’m a man--Jeroos’lum! I _should_ like to be a man--and shave!” “And then you’ll damn the razor.... Ah, Noll, it is with the razor that youth cuts its throat.” There was a long pause. The boy sat brooding on some perplexing problem; the yellow-haired youth watched him. Noll broke the silence. He slipped down off his high seat, and came over to Gomme: “I say, Netherby, your book _is_ terrific though!”