From the room at the end, the door of which was ajar, came a jingling sound as of dishes being piled together.

For a moment Grace hesitated, then walked toward the sound.

At the doorway she paused again; then the sight that met her eyes caused her to spring forward with an impulsive, "What a dreadful smash! Do let me help you." The extremely tall young woman who sat on the edge of her bed surveying the wreck of her washbowl, pitcher and every other piece of china that five minutes before had reposed confidently on the top of her washstand regarded Grace ruefully.

There was a twinkle in her eyes, however, that belied her regret.

"It did make considerable noise, I imagine," she said crisply.