Spinks gave a cough; and Miss Bishop began reading to herself in ostentatious silence, till the provocations of the page grew irresistible.
"Look here, Floss," she said excitedly. "Look at me. 'Fawn will be the pree-vyling colour this year, and for morning wear a plain tailor-myde costume in palest fawn is, for 'er who can stand it, most undeniably chic.'" Hitherto Miss Bishop had avoided that word (which she pronounced "chick") whenever she met it; but now, in its thrilling connection with the fawn-coloured costume, it was brought home to her in a peculiarly personal manner, and she pondered. "I wish I knew what that word meant. It's always coming up in my magazine."
"I think," said Flossie, "it means something like smart. Stylish, you know."
Young Sidney leapt suddenly from his seat. "Go it, Flossie! Give us the French for a nice little cup er tea."
"Really, it's too bad we can't have a plyce to ourselves where we can talk. I'm going." And as Miss Bishop went she still pondered Flossie's rendering of the word chic. Little did any of them know what grave issues were to hang on it.
Then Mr. Spinks emerged from his hiding-place. "Miss Walker," he said (he considered it more honourable to call her Miss Walker now whenever he could think of it; only he couldn't always think), "I didn't know you knew the French language."
"And why shouldn't I know it as well as other people?"
"I expect you know it a jolly sight better. Do you think, now, you could read and write it easily?"
"I might," said Flossie guardedly, "if I had a little practice."
"Because, if you could—You say your're tired of the Bank?"