house past the corner of Climoe's: and I shan't see the bridge even
when the old house comes down. But I called in builder Gilbert last
Monday on pretence that the back launder wanted repairing; and when
he'd examined it and found it all right, I asked him how pulling down
that house would affect the view: and he said that in his opinion it
would open up a bit of the street just in front of the Bank, so that
I shall be able to see all the customers going in and out."

This was news to Mrs Polsue, and it did not please her at all.
Her own bow-window enfiladed the Bank entrance (as well as that of
the Three Pilchards by the Quay-head), and so gave her a marked
advantage over her friend. To speak in military phrase, her
conjectures upon other folks' business were fed by a double line of
communication.

"Well, my dear, you won't pry on _me_ going in and out there," she
answered tartly, with a sniff. "Whenever I wish to withdraw some of
my balance, to invest it, I send for Mr Pamphlett, and he calls on me
and advises--I am bound to say--always most politely."

But here Miss Oliver put in her shot. (And Mrs Polsue indeed should
have been warier: for the pair were tried combatants. But a tendency
to lose her temper, and, losing it, to speak in haste, was ever her
fatal weakness.)

"Why; of course, . . . and _that_ accounts for it," Miss Oliver
murmured.

"Accounts for what?"