She kept looking at him. Once or twice she looked at him from head to
foot.
“You are respectable?”
“I hope so,” said Hugh, laughing.
“Well!”—this time not interrogatively.
“How many rooms would you like?”
“The fewer the better. Half a one, if there were nobody in the other
half.”
“Well!—and you wouldn’t give much trouble, I daresay.”
“Only for coals and water to wash and drink.”
“And you wouldn’t dine at home?”
“No—nor anywhere else,” said Hugh; but the second and larger clause
was sotto voce.
“And you wouldn’t smoke in-doors?”
“No.”
“And you would wipe your boots clean before you went up-stairs?”
“Yes, certainly.” Hugh was beginning to be exceedingly amused, but he kept
his gravity wonderfully.
“Have you any money?”
“Yes; plenty for the meantime. But when I shall get more, I don’t know,
you see.”
“Well, I’ve a room at the top of the house, which I’ll make comfortable
for you; and you may stay as long as you like to behave yourself.”
“But what is the rent?”
“Four shillings a week—to you. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes, if you please.”
She conducted him up to the third floor, and showed him a good-sized room,
rather bare, but clean.
“This will do delightfully,” said Hugh.
“I will make it a little more comfortable for you, you know.”
“Thank you very much. Shall I pay you a month in advance?”
“No, no,” she answered, with a grim smile. “I might want to get rid of
you, you know. It must be a week’s warning, no more.”
“Very well. I have no objection. I will go and fetch my luggage. I suppose
I may come in at once?”
“The sooner the better, young man, in a place like London. The sooner you
come home the better pleased I shall be. There now!”
So saying, she walked solemnly down-stairs before him, and let him out.
Hugh hurried away to fetch his luggage, delighted that he had so soon
succeeded in finding just what he wanted. As he went, he speculated on the
nature of his landlady, trying to account for her odd rough manner, and
the real kindness of her rude words. He came to the conclusion that she
was naturally kind to profusion, and that this kindness had, some time or
other, perhaps repeatedly, been taken shameful advantage of; that at last
she had come to the resolution to defend herself by means of a general
misanthropy, and supposed that she had succeeded, when she had got no
further than to have so often imitated the tone of her own behaviour when
at its crossest, as to have made it habitual by repetition.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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