'Nonsense. Draughty. Do you suppose I'd tolerate windows in my house that let in draughts?' Chesterton, resting a corner of the tray on the table, was sweeping a clear space for it with her hand. Not that much sweeping was needed, for the table was big and all that was on it was the notepaper which earlier in the afternoon had been scattered on the floor, a rusty pen or two, some pencils whose ends had been gnawed as the pencils of a child at its lessons are gnawed, a neglected-looking inkpot, and a grey book with _Household Accounts_ in dark lettering on its cover. Wemyss watched her while she arranged the tea-things. 'Take care, now--take care,' he said, when a cup rattled in its saucer. Chesterton, who had been taking care, took more of it; and _le trop_ being _l'ennemi du bien_ she was so unfortunate as to catch her cuff in the edge of the plate of bread and butter. The plate tilted up; the bread and butter slid off; and only by a practised quick movement did she stop the plate from following the bread and butter and smashing itself on the floor. 'There now,' said Wemyss. 'See what you've done. Didn't I tell you to be careful? It isn't,' he said, turning to Lucy, 'as if I hadn't _told_ her to be careful.' Chesterton, on her knees, was picking up the bread and butter which lay--a habit she had observed in bread and butter under circumstances of this kind--butter downwards. 'You will fetch a cloth,' said Wemyss. 'Yes sir.' 'And you will cut more bread and butter.' 'Yes sir.' 'That makes two plates of bread and butter wasted to-day entirely owing to your carelessness. They shall be stopped out of your----Lucy, where are you going?' 'To fetch a handkerchief. I must have a handkerchief, Everard. I can't for ever use yours.' 'You'll do nothing of the kind. Lizzie will bring you one. Come back at once. I won't have you running in and out of the room the whole time. I never knew any one so restless. Ring the bell and tell Lizzie to get you one. What is she for, I should like to know?' He then resumed and concluded his observations to Chesterton. 'They shall be stopped out of your wages. That,' he said, 'will teach you.' And Chesterton, who was used to this, and had long ago arranged with the cook that such stoppages should be added on to the butcher's book, said, 'Yes sir.' When she had gone--or rather withdrawn, for a plain word like gone doesn't justly describe the noiseless decorum with which Chesterton managed the doors of her entrances and exits--and when Lizzie, too, had gone after bringing a handkerchief, Lucy supposed they would now have tea; she supposed the moment had at last arrived for her to go and sit in that window.