Towards ten o'clock she heard the sitting-room door opened, and a general whispering and rustling proclaimed that several people were coming upstairs. Char did not, however, at once realize the full significance of the fact that her own room adjoined the bathroom. A thin but incessant stream of conversation began, punctuated by the loud hissing of a kettle which had overboiled upon the gas-ring. "How's the water tonight?" "Fair to middling. I don't know who is having baths, but there won't be enough water for more than two." "It's only tepid as it is." "I am hungry," proclaimed a plaintive voice in incautiously raised tones. "H'sh-sh! You'll disturb Miss Vivian. Why are you hungry at this hour, Tony?" "Well, we didn't have anything frightfully substantial for supper, did we? and I had to go after the scrambled eggs, because I was on telephone duty. So I didn't even have any pudding." "Oh, poor kid! Couldn't Mrs. Bullivant have got you something?" "I didn't like to ask her; she's so worried tonight, what with Miss Vivian's coming and everything. Besides"--Tony's voice sounded very serious--"there never _is_ anything, you know. Only tomorrow's breakfast." "Hasn't any one got some biscuits?" "I'll go down to the kitchen and find some milk for you," said the peculiarly distinct tones of Grace Jones. "I know where it's kept." "Oh, why should you bother?" "It isn't at all a bother. You must be starving." Char heard Miss Jones going downstairs again, and then a triumphant voice proclaimed: "_I_ know who has some biscuits! Plumtree. She brought them back from her holiday. I'll go and ask her." "Come on!" Evidently Tony and Miss Marsh felt an equal certainty that Miss Plumtree's biscuits could be looked upon as community goods. There was a silence, before a voice from the next story cried urgently down the stairs: "I say, is my kettle boiling? I put it on the gas-ring ages ago, as I went upstairs. Will some one have a look?" "It boiled over some time ago," Miss Delmege proclaimed very distinctly. "I took it off for you." "Thanks very much. I'll come." There was a hasty descent, evidently in bedroom slippers, and then a long whispered colloquy of which Miss Vivian heard only her own name. Evidently Miss Delmege, at least, had not forgotten the proximity of her chief. Char several times heard her "H'sh!" her companions in a sibilant and penetrating whisper. "You can't want to wash brushes at this hour!" "My dear, I simply must. Just let me have the basin half a minute; I've got the water all ready." "This your kettle?" "Yes, dear, thank you." "Oh, Mrs. Potter, have you actually got some ammonia in that water? I wish you'd let me do my brushes with yours." "Of course, Miss Marsh. There's plenty of room." "Well, good-night, girls," from Miss Delmege. "It may seem strange to you, me going to bed before ten o'clock, but it's the life. One gets tired, somehow." "Good-nights" resounded, and one door banged after another.