"The Lawrence woman is a bit of a shark, my dear," he had told Diana,
when she had explained that, owing to the retirement from business of her
former landlady, she would be compelled after Easter to seek fresh rooms.
"But she caters specially for musical students, and as she is therefore
obliged to keep the schools pleased, she feeds her boarders, on the
whole, better than do most of her species. And remember, my dear Mees
Quentin, that good food, and plenty of good food, means--voice."

So Diana had nodded and written to Mrs. Lawrence to ask if a bed-room and
sitting-room opening one into the other could be at her disposal,
receiving an affirmative reply.

"Regarding coals, Miss Bunting," proceeded Mrs. Lawrence thoughtfully, "I
told Miss Quentin that the charge would be sixpence per scuttle." (This
was in pre-war times, it must be remembered, and the scuttles were of
painfully meagre proportions.) "It might be as well to put that large
coal-box in her room--you know the one I mean--and make the charge
eightpence."

The box in question was certainly of imposing exterior proportions, but
its tin lining was of a quite different domestic period and made no
pretensions as to fitting. It lay loosely inside its sham mahogany
casing like the shrivelled kernel of a nut in its shell.

"The big coal-scuttle really doesn't hold twopenny-worth more coal than
the others," observed Miss Bunting tentatively.

A dull flush mounted to Mrs. Lawrence's cheek. She liked the prospect of
screwing an extra twopence out of one of her boarders, but she hated
having the fact so clearly pointed out to her. There were times when she