"Billy, this is some of your chaff."
"I swear it's not," protested Shafto forcibly. "That prying imp was rooting in your despatch box. Ah!" he concluded in a significant undertone, as Gascoigne hurriedly left him.
After a short absence his friend returned, and resumed his seat without one word.
"I made her put it back," continued his companion. "I always knew that you'd be let in by that child, somehow."
"No," rejoined the other; "I let myself in—as you call it."
"You can't deny that she has made a rather brilliant beginning. Smashing up a new dogcart, unearthing your most sacred possession, and flaunting it round the house. What on earth are you going to do with her?"
"I'm going to send her to school next week."
"And afterwards?"
"She will make her home with some nice family."
"Nice prospect for the nice family," remarked Shafto. "And after she has quite done with the nice family?"