Miss Merivale's Mistake

{Illustration: PAULINE SAT DOWN IN THE LOW CHAIR BY THE WINDOW AND TOOK UP THE PHOTOGRAPH FRAME.}( There are no illustrations in this version )
CONTENTS

Miss Merivale had not been paying much heed to the eager talk that was going on between Rose and Pauline Smythe at the window.
The long drive from Woodcote had made her head ache, and she was drowsily wishing that Miss Smythe would get her the cup of tea she had promised, when the sound of a name made her suddenly sit bolt upright, her kind old face full of anxious curiosity.
“Rhoda Sampson, the creature calls herself,” Pauline was saying in her clear, high-pitched voice. “Her people live in Kentish Town, or somewhere in the dim wilds about there. You would know it by just looking at her.”
“Does she come from Kentish Town every day?” asked Rose.
“Three times a week. On the top of an omnibus, one may be sure. And she imbibes facts from The Civil Service Geography all the way. I found the book in her bag yesterday. I believe she wants to get into the Post Office eventually. It is a worthy ambition.”
“Whom are you talking of, my dears?” asked Miss Merivale from her seat by the fire. Pauline turned round with a little stare. Miss Merivale was so quiet and unassuming a personage that she had got into the habit of ignoring her. “Of Clare’s new amusement, Miss Merivale,” she said, with a laugh. Her laugh, like her voice, was a trifle hard. “It was scientific dressmaking when I was at Woodcote last, you remember, Rose dear. Now it is a society. Clare is secretary.”
“But you spoke of some girl who came here,” persisted Miss Merivale.
Pauline lifted her delicately-pencilled eyebrows. “Oh, that is Clare’s typewriter. She is part of the joke. If you saw Clare and her together over their letters, you would think they were reforming the universe. It hasn’t dawned on poor Sampson yet that Clare will get tired of the whole business in a month. It is lucky she has the Post Office to fall back on. Clare is exactly what she used to be at school, Rose, ‘everything by starts and nothing long.’ It amuses me to watch her.”