Mrs. Sandboys stood aghast at the accusation. At first she wondered how such a charge could possibly be trumped up against her; then she imagined it must surely be some jest of the landlady’s; but Mrs. Fokesell soon put that notion to flight, by not only repeating the aspersion, but adding, that she had been informed, on the very best authority, that she was well known to the whole of the police, as not being the most respectable person in the world. This was more than the Cumberland blood of Mrs. Sandboys could bear; and, holding in her breath with the effort of subduing her wrath, she demanded to know what Mrs. Fokesell meant by such an assertion. Mrs. Fokesell, who was nothing daunted, did not make the slightest attempt to mince the matter, but proceeded to tell her lodger, in the most unequivocal terms, that the policeman had declared that he knew she was not an honest woman. Mrs. Sandboys could hardly contain herself for rage. If ever she had felt inclined to commit an assault upon any one, it was at that particular moment. Her fingers were all of a work, and it was evidently as much as she could do to keep her hands from tearing the landlady’s cap from her head. She could have borne any imputation in the world save an aspersion on her virtue. Again she demanded of Mrs. Fokesell an immediate and full explanation. How dare a low-bred woman like her tell her she was not an honest woman—when Mrs. Fokesell, herself a married female, (and Mrs. Sandboys laid a strong emphasis on both of the words,) was without so much as a husband to show for herself. It was very well to make out that he was at sea, but nothing was easier than to _say_ as much. It was now Mrs. Fokesell’s turn to grow scarlet with rage, and the words were scarcely uttered before she thrust her hands in the huge pocket she wore at her side, and drawing out an old “housewife,” she took from it a piece of paper, which, having torn open, she thrust into the face of the terrified Mrs. Sandboys, saying, as she shook it vigorously, “There’s my marriage lines, woman! show your’n! show your’n, if you can, and prove yourself to be what you says you are.” Poor Mrs. Sandboys felt the helplessness of her position. She knew that she had parted with her certificate in the act of disposing of her husband’s old trowsers. It was idle for her to think of an explanation—of course it could but appear as a lame excuse on the present occasion; so prudence made her gulp down her indignation, and try to soothe the infuriated Mrs. Fokesell, who was once more making her misfortune the laughing-stock of the whole house—for the lodgers, hearing the wrangling of the two ladies in the passage, had crept one by one from their respective apartments, and stood with their necks stretched out over the balusters, giggling at the disputants below.