"You drive me to my dressmaker and leave me there and go on to your rooms. And then you collect a few really old things that you don't want and tie them up and meet me at the 4.40. I'm afraid," she said frankly, "it is a rotten way of spending an afternoon; but I promised mother."
"I'll do it," I said.
My parcel and I arrived promptly to time. Miss Middleton didn't.
"Don't say I've caught the wrong train," she said breathlessly, when at last she appeared. "It does go at 4.40, doesn't it?"
"It does," I said, "and it did."
"Then my watch must be slow."
"Send it to the jumble sale," I advised. "Look here—we've a long time to wait for the next train; let's undress my parcel in the waiting-room, and I'll point out the things that really want watching. Some are absolutely unique."
It was an odd collection of very dear friends, Miss Middleton's final reminder having been that nothing was too old for a jumble sale.
"Lot One," I said. "A photograph of my house cricket eleven, framed in oak. Very interesting. The lad on the extreme right is now a clergyman."
"Oh, which is you?" said Miss Middleton eagerly.