There were a great many rooms to let in Great Porter Square, especially in the houses near to No. 119. No. 118 appeared to be almost quite empty, for, except in a room at the very top of the house, and in the basement, there was not a light to be seen. I did not wonder at it. Well, my dear, my walk round the Square did not help me much, so what did I do but walk back to the greengrocer's shop. You know the sort of shop. The people sell coals, wood, gingerbeer, and lemonade, the day before yesterday's bunches of flowers, and the day before yesterday's cabbages and vegetables. "Didn't you find it?" asked the woman. "O, yes," I replied, "but I didn't find what I was looking for. I heard that a servant was wanted in one of the houses, and I have forgotten the number." "There's a house in the Square," said the woman, "where they want a servant bad, but they can't get one to stop." "What's the number?" I asked. "No. 118," the woman answered. "Next to--but perhaps you don't know." "Don't know what?" I inquired. "That it's next door to the house where a murder was committed," she said. "What is that to me?" I said. "_I_ didn't do it." The woman looked at me admiringly. "Well," she said, "you've got a nerve! And you don't look it, neither. You look delicate." "Don't you go by looks," I said, "I'm stronger than you think." Then I thanked her, and went to No. 118 Great Porter Square, and knocked at the door. CHAPTER XV. IN WHICH BECKY CONTINUES HER LETTER AND RELATES HOW SHE OBTAINED THE SITUATION AT NO. 118. I had to wait a little while before my knock was answered, and then I heard, in a woman's voice, "Who's there?" "A girl," I replied. "I heard you were in want of one." "Are you alone?" "Yes." The street-door was thrown suddenly open, and a woman appeared on the doorstep, with a lighted candle in her hand, which the wind instantly blew out. The woman was Mrs. Preedy, lodging-house keeper, my present mistress. She tried to see my face, but the night was too dark. "Wait a minute," she said; "stand where you are." Upon my word, my dear, I believe she was afraid of poor little me. She retreated into the passage, and re-lit the candle. Shading and protecting it with her hand, she bade me walk in, but not to shut the street-door. I obeyed her, and she examined me, seeming to measure whether she was a match for me in strength. "How did you know I wanted a servant?" she asked. "They told me at the greengrocer's round the corner," I said. "Where did you live last?" I replied promptly, "I have never been in service. But I am sure I should suit you. I am strong and willing, and I don't mind what I do so long as the place is comfortable." "It's comfortable enough," she said. "Are you a London girl?" "No, I come from the country." "What made you leave the country?" I cast down my eyes. "I had a quarrel with my young man." Just reflect for a moment, my dear, upon my boldness!