"I should have thought that after the strange way Grace Jones behaved that night, the less said about it the better. It's not the kind of thing one cares to dwell upon." "I must say," Miss Henderson agreed, "that it would have been more likely to put him off than to make him admire her. At least, so far as my experience of human nature goes." "Well, just sign this, will you, girls?" They all hung over Miss Plumtree's shoulder, and read the petition. Miss Vivian's secretary put her signature down first on the list, as by rights, and decorated her "Vera M. Delmege" with an elegant flourish. "I must say I do like what I call a characteristic signature," she remarked, hastening back to appropriate the wicker arm-chair nearest the fire. The others cowered round, in twos and threes, gazing disconsolately at the driving hail and stormy clouds of the grey world outside. "Rather a wretched Christmas, isn't it? I do think we might have had a week's leave, really," said Miss Henderson, shivering. "Miss Vivian isn't taking that herself," Miss Delmege at once reminded her. "And those who live near enough have been given the week-end, after all." "I might just have managed it if I hadn't been on telephone duty. But she wouldn't let me change with any one else. I suppose I must go over there now and release Miss Cox," said Tony, rising reluctantly to her feet. "Well, take the petition, dear, and leave it on Miss Vivian's table, will you? Then she'll find it when she comes. I dare say she'll be in this afternoon. Poor Mrs. Bullivant!" They talked of Mrs. Bullivant in a subdued way at intervals during the day. The little Superintendent remained in her own room. "Oh, isn't it wretched?" groaned Miss Marsh for the hundredth time. "I declare I'd welcome a troop-train; it would give us something to do, and make a break." But Miss Anthony returned from the office at four o'clock with an awed face and a piece of news. "Girls, what _do_ you think? It's too awful--poor Miss Vivian's father is dead. He died this morning, after a second stroke yesterday. Isn't it dreadful?" Every one exclaimed, and echoed Miss Anthony's "dreadful!" with entire sincerity, although the announcement of Sir Piers Vivian's death had given them food for thought and conversation for the rest of the evening. "How did you hear, Tony?" "Gracie Jones telephoned. My dears, they've had every sort of adventure. Dr. Prince's car broke down last night, or something, and a messenger met them from Plessing to say Sir Piers had had another stroke, and Miss Vivian and the doctor were to come at once. And he never recovered consciousness, and died this morning early. Isn't it dreadful?" "Oh, poor Miss Vivian! Did Gracie say anything about her?" "Only that she was being very brave. Of course, that's just what she would be." "I suppose Gracie's coming back here tonight? Rather awful for her, poor girl, to be there just now."