As I mounted the stairs to the drawing-room floor, I heard a sound of voices--the murmur of laughter; idiotic guffaws, suppressed giggles, the masculine and feminine varieties of tomfoolery.
"YOU'D make a splendid woman of business, YOU would!" a young man was saying.

I gathered from his drawl that he belonged to that sub-species of the human race which is known as the Chappie.
"Wouldn't I just ?" a girl's voice answered, tittering.

I recognised it as Sissie's.

"You ought to see me at it! Why, my brother set up a place once for mending bicycles; and I used to stand about at the door, as if I had just returned from a ride; and when fellows came in, with a nut loose or something, I'd begin talking with them while Bertie tightened it.

Then, when THEY weren't looking, I'd dab the business end of a darning-needle, so, just plump into their tires; and of course, as soon as they went off, they were back again in a minute to get a puncture mended! I call THAT business." A roar of laughter greeted the recital of this brilliant incident in a commercial career.