"Some people don't seem to mind what they say. I never did like her, but I certainly didn't think she had a coarse mind."
"And has she?"
"Well, I wouldn't say it to any one but you, dear, and I know you won't repeat any of it, but she was actually so pleased and proud at the mere idea that she said she couldn't keep it to herself, though she isn't even in the least certain."
The virtuous horror expressed in Miss Delmege's whole person at such deplorable outspokenness was so excessive that Grace dared not make any reply for fear of producing an anti-climax.
That evening, Grace's last at Questerham Hostel, her room-mate became disconsolate.
"I don't know what I shall do without you, Gracie, and this room will be simply awful. You've always been such a dear about my being so untidy and everything, and put up with all of it, and done such heaps of little things. I shall never forget how you washed up the cups and tea-things after our morning tea, dear, never."
"But I was only too pleased," protested Grace. "You've done a lot for me, if it comes to that. Look how often you've boiled your kettle for me, and had everything ready on nights when I came back late. I shall miss you very much, but don't forget that if ever you're in Wales you're coming to stay with us."
"I say, do you really mean that?"
"Of course I do."
"You are a brick, Gracie. The thing I like about you," said Miss Marsh instructively, "is that you don't put on any frills."