"Well, perhaps I wouldn't! After all, I should be sorry to think I couldn't get the better of Delmege, when all's said and done. I've a very good mind to tell her quite plainly that if she's got her eye on that corner bed she'll have to come to an understanding with me first, both as to the use of the screen and who's to make tea in the morning and turn the gas out at night. I've heard tales about Delmege's trick of getting into bed in a hurry and leaving everybody else to do the work. And she and I have had words before now."
"I know you have," said Grace. "Perhaps that may prevent her from wanting to come here."
Miss Marsh looked gloomy, and then bounded up as a tap sounded on the door.
"What did I tell you? I'll take any bet you like that's Delmege nosing round now. I know the way she swishes her petticoat—such swank, wearing a silk one under uniform! Well, I'm not going to interfere with her."
Miss Marsh bounced behind her screen.
"Come in," Grace called.
"Say I'm undressing," Miss Marsh issued a whispered command.
Miss Delmege stepped elegantly into the room, her favourite "fawn" peignoir chastely gathered round her.
"You alone, dear?"
"No, she isn't. I'm undressing," said a sharp voice behind the screen.