"You forget that Gracie knows all about Plessing," cried Miss Marsh instantly. "Of course, _she's_ seen Miss Vivian at home." "And does she really smoke?" asked Tony. "Yes, she does. Quite a lot, I think." "Ah, well, that's different, isn't it?" Miss Delmege's serenity remained quite unimpaired. "One can understand her requiring it. I believe it really is supposed to be soothing, isn't it? Of course, working as she does, her nerves probably require it. What I mean to say is, she probably requires it for her nerves." "I dare say. I wonder where she'll smoke here?" "In Mrs. Bullivant's sitting-room, I suppose. Not that she'll be here much, I don't suppose. Only just for her meals, you know, and then to go straight to bed when she gets in." "I do hope that her sleeping in Questerham isn't going to serve her as an excuse for working later than ever!" exclaimed Miss Delmege, in the tones of proprietary concern with which she always spoke of Miss Vivian's strenuous habits. "Yes, I see what you mean," Mrs. Potter agreed. "With her car waiting, she simply had to come away sooner or later." "Exactly; and she's always so considerate for her chauffeur, and every one. I really do think that I've never seen any one--and I'm not saying it because it _is_ Miss Vivian, but speaking quite impersonally--any one who went out of her way, as she does, to think of other people." "Look at what she did for me--even ordered a cab each way for me!" cried Miss Plumtree, very simply. "That," said Miss Delmege gently, "is just Miss Vivian all over." Miss Marsh bounced up from her chair, rudely severing the acquiescent silence that followed on this well-worn _cliché_. "I'm going up to get my knitting. I simply must get those socks done for Christmas. I suppose no one will be shocked at my knitting on Sunday?" "Gracious, no! Especially when it's for the Army. When's he coming on leave, Marshie?" "Oh, goodness knows! The poor boy's in hospital out there. Can I fetch anything for any one while I'm upstairs?" "My work-basket, if you wouldn't mind," said Grace. "I say," asked Mrs. Potter, as the door slammed behind Miss Marsh, "_is_ she engaged?" "Oh no. She has heaps of pals, you know," Miss Henderson explained. "She's that sort of girl, I fancy. Haven't you noticed all the letters she gets with the field postmark? It isn't always the same boy, either, because there are quite three different handwritings. And her brothers are both in the Navy, so it isn't _them_." "Well," said Miss Delmege, with the little air of originality so seldom justified by her utterances, "they say there's safety in numbers." "Here's your basket, Gracie," said Miss Marsh, reappearing breathless. "How extraordinarily tidy you are! I always know exactly where to find your things--that is, if mine aren't all over them!" "What are you going to make, Gracie?"