They trooped down to the basement, and every one said how nice it was to see old Plumtree back in her place again, and Mrs. Bullivant triumphantly announced that there would be sausages, because Miss Plumtree liked them, to celebrate her return. "Not two for me, really, please," Miss Delmege protested elegantly, and manipulated the extreme ends of her knife and fork with the merest tips of her exclusively curved fingers, as a protest against the great enthusiasm displayed by several of her neighbours. On the same principle, when the sausages were followed by a loaf of bread and a pot of marmalade, Miss Delmege cut up her bread into small, accurately shaped dice, and said, "Pass the preserve if you will, please, dear," between two very small sips at her cup of cocoa. She sat at the foot of the table, and the chairs on either side of her generally remained vacant. Grace came down late, and apologized. One might be, and almost inevitably was, late on week-days, owing to the exigencies of the office, but Sunday supper was something of a ritual. "So nice and homelike, all sitting down together with no one in a hurry," Mrs. Bullivant always said. But she smiled a welcome at Grace. "I've kept your supper nice and hot, dear," she said, uncovering a plate next to her own. "Come and sit down here, won't you? You look tired tonight." Miss Delmege shot a triumphant glance at Miss Marsh, who pretended not to see it, and did not fail to observe that tired or not, Grace made her usual excellent supper. "I wonder if any one has any cigs?" Tony suggested wistfully. "Yes," said Grace promptly. "Luckily, I have a whole box." "Oh, you angel! How lovely! I do hate Sundays without a cigarette. Somehow, on other evenings there never seems to be time to smoke, or else one's too tired and goes straight to bed." In the sitting-room Grace produced her box of cigarettes. It was almost a matter of course at the Hostel that such things should be treated as belonging more to the community than to the individual. "Thanks awfully, Gracie." "Really? Are you sure? Well, then, thanks so much, if I may--just one." "Delmege? Oh, you don't smoke, though, do you?" "No, thank you. I dare say I seem old-fashioned, but it's the way mother brought us all up from children, and I must say I always feel that smoking is--well, rather unwomanly, you know." In the face of this commentary Miss Marsh struck a match, and passed it round the room. The atmosphere became clouded. "You know," Grace said rather mischievously to Miss Delmege, "that Miss Vivian smokes?" "She doesn't!" "Indeed she does. Didn't you know that? Why, I've often noticed the smell of tobacco when she hangs up her coat in the office. It's unmistakable." "That might mean anything!" hastily exclaimed Miss Delmege. "Tobacco does _cling_ so. Very likely it hangs all round the house at Plessing, you know, with a man in the house and people always coming and going, probably."