His first letter was to be to Jack; the second to Major Trustcott, who had thoughtfully given him the address where he might be found about that date.

But there were to be one or two additional difficulties first.

He arrived at the post-office, went up the steps and through the swing doors.  The place had been newly decorated, with a mahogany counter and light brass lattice rails, behind which two young ladies of an inexpressibly aristocratic demeanor and appearance were engaged in conversation:  their names, as he learned from a few sentences he listened to before daring to interrupt so high a colloquy, were Miss Mills and Miss Jamieson.

After a decent and respectful pause Frank ventured on his request.

“Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please ... miss.”  (He did manage that!)

Miss Mills continued her conversation: 

“So I said to her that that would never do, that Harold would be sure to get hold of it, and that then—­”

Frank shuffled his feet a little.  Miss Mills cast him a high glance.

“—­There’d be trouble, I said, Miss Jamieson.”

“You did quite right, dear.”

“Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please, miss.”  He clicked four pence together on the counter.  Miss Mills rose slowly from her place, went a yard or two, and took down a large book.  Frank watched her gratefully.  Then she took a pen and began to make entries in it.

“Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please.”

Frank’s voice shook a little with anger.  He had not learned his lesson yet.

Miss Mills finished her entry; looked at Frank with extreme disdain, and finally drew out a sheet of stamps.

“Pennies?” she inquired sharply.

“Please.”

Two penny stamps were pushed across and two pennies taken up.

“And now two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please, miss,” went on Frank, encouraged.  He thought himself foolish to be angry.  Miss Jamieson uttered a short laugh and glanced at Miss Mills.  Miss Mills pursed her lips together and took up her pen once more.

“Will you be good enough to give me what I ask for, at once, please?”

The whole of Frank blazed in this small sentence:  but Miss Mills was equal to it.

“You ought to know better,” she said, “than to come asking for such things here!  Taking up a lot of time like that.”

“You don’t keep them?”

Miss Mills uttered a small sound.  Miss Jamieson tittered.

“Shops are the proper places for writing-paper.  This is a post-office.”

Words cannot picture the superb high breeding shown in this utterance.  Frank should have understood that he had been guilty of gross impertinence in asking such things of Miss Mills; it was treating her almost as a shop-girl.  But he was extremely angry by now.

“Then why couldn’t you have the civility to tell me so at once?”