He had some business letters to write, and he told himself that he would go and get them done in what he still thought of in his mind as George's room.

He had noticed that the big plain deal writing table was still there.
He went upstairs, and when he opened the bedroom door, he was astonished to find Rosamund kneeling in front of George's old play-box, routing among what looked like a lot of papers and books.
"I'm hunting for a prescription for father," she said, looking up.

"Timmy thinks he put it in here one day after coming back from the chemist's at Guildford." She looked flushed, and decidedly cross, as she went on: "No one's taught Timmy to put things in their proper place, as we were taught to do, when we were children!" Radmore felt amused.

She certainly was very, very pretty, and did not look much more than a child herself.
"Look here," he said good-naturedly, "let me help.

I don't think you're going the right way to work." He felt just a little bit sorry for Timmy; Rosamund was raking about as if the play-box was a bran-pie.
Bending down he took up out of the box a bundle of envelopes, copybooks, and Christmas cards.