"It's a lovely chest," I said lamely.
"Picked wood," said Miss Childe. "Flogged once a week for years, that tree was."
"Flogged?"
"Certainly."
Suddenly the air was full of music, and a jubilant chorus of voices was singing lustily—
"A woman, a spaniel, and a walnut-tree,
The more you beat them, the better they be."
As the melody faded—
"I told you so," said Miss Childe. "What about the butter and eggs? Will you pay for them, or shall I have them sent?"
I handed her the largest one pound note I have ever seen.
"Thanks," she said shortly. "Change at Earl's Court."