“It.  The man thing you keep in there.”

“Yes.  But it doesn’t get it here.”

“I think you might ask it in.  It might amuse me.”

Lucia ignored the suggestion.

“I haven’t talked,” said Miss Palliser, “to a man thing for ages.”

“It hasn’t come to be talked to.  It’s much too busy.”

“Mayn’t it come in, just for a treat?”

Lucia shook her head.

“What’s it like?  Is it nice to look at?”

“No—­yes—­no.”

“What?  Haven’t you made up your mind yet?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“Lucia, you’re a perfect dog in the manger.  You don’t care a rap about the creature yourself, and yet you refuse to share it with your friend.  I put it to you.  Here we are, you and I, living in a howling wilderness untrodden by the foot of man, where even curates are at a premium—­is it right, is it fair of you, to have a presentable man-thing in the house and to keep it to yourself?”

“Well—­you see, it—­it isn’t so very presentable.”

“Rubbish, I saw it.  It looked perfectly all right.”

“That,” said Lucia, “is illusion.  You haven’t heard it speak.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing—­nothing.  Only it isn’t exactly what you’d call a gentleman.”

“Oh.  Well, I think you might have told me that before.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Kitty reflected a moment.  “So it’s making a catalogue, is it?  Whose bright idea is that?”

“It was grandpapa’s.  It’s mine now.”  She did not mention that it was also Horace Jewdwine’s.

“And what will your little papa say?”

“He won’t say anything.  He never does.  The library’s mine—­mine to do as I like with.”

“You’ve broken the spell.  Isn’t there some weird legend about women never inheriting it?”

“Well, they never have.  I shall be the first.”

“I say, if I were you, I should feel a little creepy.”

“I do—­sometimes.  That’s one reason why I want to get this thing made in my lifetime, before I go away.”

“Good gracious.  You’re not going away to die.”

“I don’t know what I’m going away to do.  Anyhow, the catalogue will be done.  All ready for Horace when he steps into my shoes.”

“Unless—­happy thought—­you marry him.  That, I suppose, is another pair of shoes?”

There was a pause, during which Miss Palliser gazed thoughtfully at her friend.

“What have you been doing to yourself?  You look most awfully tired.”

“I’ve been sitting up rather late the last few nights, cataloguing.”

“What on earth did you do that for?”

“Because I want to finish by the twenty-seventh.”

There was a pause while Miss Palliser ate tea-cake.

“Is Horace coming down before you go?”

“No.  He’s too busy.  Besides, he never comes when father isn’t here.”