found Miss Bunting's conscientiousness something of a trial.

"It's a much larger box," she protested sharply.

"Yes. I know it is--outside. But the lining only holds two more knobs
than the sixpenny ones."

Mrs. Lawrence frowned.

"Do I understand that you--you actually measured the amount it contains?"
she asked, with bitterness.

"Yes," retorted Miss Bunting valiantly. "And compared it with the
others. It was when you told me to put the eightpenny scuttle in Miss
Jenkins' room. She complained at once."

"Then you exceeded your duties, Miss Bunting. You should have referred
Miss Jenkins to me."

Miss Bunting made no reply. She had acted precisely in the way
suggested, but Miss Jenkins, a young art-student of independent opinions,
had flatly declined to be "referred" to Mrs. Lawrence.

"It's not the least use, Bunty dear," she had said. "I'm not going to
have half an hour's acrimonious conversation with Mrs. Lawrence on the
subject of twopennyworth of coal. At the same time I haven't the
remotest intention of paying twopence extra for those two lumps of excess
luggage, so to speak. So you can just trot that sarcophagus away, like
the darling you are, and bring me back my sixpenny scuttle again."