She had no claims to aristocratic descent, but her parents were gentlefolk; that is to say, they were both born in a position which encouraged personal refinement rather than the contrary, which expected of them a certain education in excess of life’s barest need, which authorised them to use the service of ruder men and women in order to secure to themselves a margin of life for life’s sake. Perhaps for three generations her ancestors could claim so much gentility; it was more than enough to put a vast gulf between her and the Mutimers. Favourable circumstances of upbringing had endowed her with delicacy of heart and mind not inferior to that of any woman living; mated with an equal husband, the children born of her might hope to take their place among the most beautiful and the most intelligent. And her husband was a man incapable of understanding her idlest thought. He opened his eyes, looked at her blankly for a moment, stirred his limbs to make his position easier. Pouring rain in London streets. The cab drove eastward, but for no great distance. Adela found herself alighting at a lodging-house not far from the reservoir at the top of Pentonville Hill. Mutimer had taken these rooms a week ago. A servant fresh from the blackleading of a grate opened the door to them, grinning with recognition at the sight of Mutimer. The latter had to help the cabman to deposit the trunks in the passage. Then Adela was shown to her bedroom. It was on the second floor, the ordinary bedroom of cheap furnished lodgings, with scant space between the foot of the bed and the fireplace, with a dirty wall-paper and a strong musty odour. The window looked upon a backyard. She passed from the bedroom to the sitting-room; here was the same vulgar order, the same musty smell. The table was laid for dinner. Mutimer read his wife’s countenance furtively. He could not discover how the abode impressed her, and he put no question. When he returned from the bedroom she was sitting before the fire, pensive. ‘You’re hungry, I expect?’ he said. Her appetite was far from keen, but in order not to appear discontented she replied that she would be glad of dinner. The servant, her hands and face half washed, presently appeared with a tray on which were some mutton-chops, potatoes, and a cabbage. Adela did her best to eat, but the chops were ill-cooked, the vegetables poor in quality. There followed a rice-pudding; it was nearly cold; coagulated masses of rice appeared beneath yellowish water. Mutimer made no remark about the food till the table was cleared. Then he said: ‘They’ll have to do better than that. The first day, of course--You’ll have a talk with the landlady whilst I’m out to-night. Just let her see that you won’t be content with _anything_; you have to talk plainly to these people.’ ‘Yes, I’ll speak about it,’ Adela replied.