That stout, elderly lady received her old lodger without effusion, and with languid interest. The look of the house was not what it had been. It had deteriorated. The windows had not been cleaned nor the banisters dusted. "My dear old landlady, I am so glad to see you again," said Joseph. "Thank you, sir. You ordered no meal, but I have got two mutton chops in the larder, and can mash some potatoes. At what time would you like your supper, sir?" She had become a machine, a thing of routine. "Not yet, thank you. I have business to transact first, and I shall not be disengaged before nine o'clock. But I have something to say to you, Mrs. Baker, and I will say it at once and get it over, if you will kindly step up into my parlour." She did so, sighing at each step of the stairs as she ascended. All the characters mounted as well, and entering the little sitting-room, ranged themselves against the wall facing the door. Mrs. Baker was a portly woman, aged about forty-five, and plain featured. She had formerly been neat, now she was dowdy. Before she had lost her character she never appeared in that room without removing her apron, but on this occasion she wore it, and it was not clean. "Widow!" said Joseph, addressing his character, "will you kindly step forward?" "I would do anything for _you_," with a roll of the eyes. "Dear Mrs. Baker," said Leveridge, "I feel that I have done you a grievous wrong." "Well, sir, I ain't been myself since you put me into your book." "My purpose is now to undo the past, and to provide you with a character." Then, turning to the skittish widow of his creation, he said, "Now, then, slip into and occupy her." "I don't like the tenement," said the widow, pouting. "Whether you like it or not," protested Joseph, "you must have that or no other." He waved his hand. "Presto!" he exclaimed. Instantly a wondrous change was effected in Mrs. Baker. She whipped off the apron, and crammed it under the sofa cushion. She wriggled in her movements, she eyed herself in the glass, and exclaimed: "Oh, my! what a fright I am. I'll be back again in a minute when I have changed my gown and done up my hair." "We can dispense with your presence, Mrs. Baker," said Leveridge sternly. "I will ring for you when you are wanted." At that moment a rap at the door was heard; and Mrs. Baker, having first dropped a coquettish curtsy to her lodger, tripped downstairs to admit the vicar, and to show him up to Mr. Leveridge's apartment. "You may go, Mrs. Baker," said he; for she seemed inclined to linger. When she had left the room, Joseph contemplated the reverend gentleman. He bore a crestfallen appearance. He looked as if he had been out in the rain all night without a paletot. His cheeks were flabby, his mouth drooped at the corners, his eyes were vacant, and his whiskers no longer stuck out horrescent and assertive.