Char heard her open the door of the next room, which she knew must be the sitting-room, and a babel of voices immediately became audible. She waited, rather annoyed. Mrs. Bullivant came out into the hall, followed by quite a large group. "This is it. Look, dears, can you manage it? Miss Henderson, dear, you're tall." "Oh, yes. It's only up one flight, and it isn't a very large box--only an awkward shape. Will some one give me a hand?" Miss Plumtree, who was sturdy, came to assist, and between them, with a great deal of straining and pulling, and many anxious ejaculations from the door-way of the sitting-room, they slowly lifted the box. "Don't hurt yourself, now!" cried Mrs. Bullivant. "Get it from underneath, Henderson!" "Mind the paint on the wall!" "Mind the banisters!" "Oh, mind what you're doing, Greengage!" Similar helpful ejaculations resounded, as the two girls carried the box up the first flight of narrow stairs. Just as they reached the top step, Char heard the small, clear voice of her secretary, standing in the hall. "Can you manage, or shall I help you?" There was a general laugh, echoed from above, as Miss Henderson's voice came briefly down to them: "Thanks, Delmege; just like you, dear, but we happen to have finished." They all laughed again. Char, through the half-open door, saw Miss Delmege tossing her fair head. "I'm afraid I don't quite see the point of the joke," she observed acidly. "Now go in to the fire again, all of you," Mrs. Bullivant exclaimed. "Miss Vivian will hear you if you chatter like this in the hall. I'll tell her the box is safely upstairs." When she returned to impart the information, Char had shut the door of her little room again. "Wouldn't you like to come upstairs, Miss Vivian?" the Superintendent asked her timidly. "They've managed to get your box up all right, and I expect you'll be wanting to unpack." Char wanted nothing less, but she realized that the unwelcome task must of necessity precede her night's rest, and went upstairs with Mrs. Bullivant. The bedroom seemed to her very tiny, and, indeed, what space there was, her box and dressing-bag mainly occupied. It was also exceedingly cold. When Mrs. Bullivant had wished her good-night, with a certain wistful air of expecting an enthusiasm which Char felt quite unable to display, she slipped on her fur coat and began to tug at the strap of her trunk. The process of unpacking at least succeeded in warming her. But there was hardly any room to put away even the limited number of belongings that she had brought, and Char told herself rather indignantly that Mrs. Bullivant seemed to be a most incompetent manager, and might at least have provided her employer with a respectably sized bedroom in her own Hostel.