‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. She tore open the envelope and read it. In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. I went to her rooms to-night. She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory. I was orphaned a long time ago. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about.
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