"I just looked in as it's your last night here," she told Grace. "We shall miss you, I'm sure. Tell me, dear, have you any idea who is coming into this room in your place?" "Not any," hastily said Grace, as Miss Marsh's boot was dropped on the floor with a clatter that argued a certain degree of energy in removing it. "I suppose it will be arranged by the new Superintendent." "It might be kinder," said Miss Delmege thoughtfully, "to have all that sort of thing in order before she arrives. She'll have plenty to do without changes of bedroom. But of course this _is_ a room for two, there's no doubt about it. I've sometimes thought of a move myself, and this might be a good opportunity--" The second boot was violently sent to rejoin its fellow. "Strange, the noise that goes on in here, isn't it, with only the pair of you, too. I wonder it doesn't disturb you; but perhaps you're used to it?" "If you don't like noise, Delmege, don't come in here," exclaimed the still invisible Miss Marsh. "I never could bear creeping about without a sound, like a cat, myself." "I dare say not," Miss Delmege returned, with a certain spurious assumption of extreme gentleness in her little refined enunciation. "But I hope we all know what give and take is in sharing a room--especially in war-time." "There's more take than give about some of us, by all accounts, especially in the matter of kettles and early tea," was the retort of Miss Marsh, spoken with asperity. Miss Delmege turned to Grace. "Well, dear, as I don't propose to have words either now or at any other hour, I shall say good-night. Do you mean to say you manage with only one screen?" "Quite well. Besides, there are two round the other bed." "I dare say that's very necessary," said Miss Delmege pointedly, as she moved to the door. "Good-night, dear." "Good-night," said Grace, not without thankfulness. "Good-night," repeated Miss Delmege to the screen. "When I'm in here, I shall certainly insist upon having an extra screen. I can't imagine how anybody can manage with one only. And each will keep to her own side of the room, too, instead of leaving her things all over the other's. What I call untidy, some of these arrangements are. But, of course, it's all what one's been used to, isn't it?" Leaving no time for a reply to this favourite inquiry, Miss Delmege shut the door gently behind her. Grace, proceeding to bed under the flow of eloquence directed at her from behind Miss Marsh's screen, conjectured that the bedroom would know no lack of spirited conversation between its inmates in the future. The next morning Miss Marsh asked her at breakfast: "Shall you go and say good-bye to Miss Vivian?" "I don't think it's necessary, is it?" Grace said hesitatingly. "I can easily find out for you, dear, if she can see you for a moment," Miss Delmege kindly volunteered. The opinion of the Hostel instantly veered round to an irrevocable certainty that a farewell to Miss Vivian was not necessary.