"Good-morning, Georgiana," Helen greeted her, going into the scullery--much more kindly than she had greeted her uncle. Instead of falling on Georgiana and slaying her, she practically embraced her. A gas cooking-stove is a wondrous gift of Heaven. You do not have to light it with yesterday's paper, damp wood, and the remains of last night's fire. In twelve minutes not merely was the breakfast ready, but the kitchen was dusted, and there was a rose in a glass next to the bacon. James had calmed himself by reading the book, and the period of waiting had really been very short. As he fronted the bacon and the flower, Helen carefully shut the scullery door. The _Manchester Guardian_ lay to the left of his plate. Thoughtful! Altogether it was not so bad. Further, she smiled in handing him his tea. She, too, he observed, must have slept ill. Her agreeable face was drawn. But her blue-and-white-striped dress was impeccably put on. It was severe, and yet very smooth. It suited her mood. It also suited his. They faced each other, as self-controlled people do face each other at breakfast after white nights, disillusioned, tremendously sensible, wise, gently cynical, seeing the world with steady and just orbs. "I've been reading one o' your books, lass," he began, with superb amiability. "It's pretty near as good as a newspaper. There's summat about a law case as goes on for ever. It isna' true, I suppose, but it might be. The man as wrote that knew what he was talking about for once in a way. It's rare and good." "You mean Jarndyce _v_. Jarndyce?" she said, with a smile--not one of her condescending smiles. "Ay," he said, "I believe that _is_ the name. How didst know, lass?" "I just guessed," she answered. "I suppose you don't have much time for reading, uncle?" "Not me!" said he. "I'm one o' th' busiest men in Bosley. And if ye don't know it now, you will afore long." "Oh!" she cried, "I've noticed that. But what can you expect? With all those rents to collect yourself! Of course, I think you're quite right to collect them yourself. Rent-collectors can soon ruin a property." Her tone was exceedingly sympathetic and comprehending. He was both surprised and pleased by it. He had misjudged her mood. It was certainly comfortable to have a young woman in the house who understood things as she did. "Ye're right, lass," he said. "It's small houses as mean trouble. You're never done--wi' cottage property. Always summat!" "It's all small, isn't it?" she went on. "About how much do the rents average? Three-and-six a week?" "About that," he said. She was a shrewd guesser. "I can't imagine how you carry the money about," she exclaimed. "It must be very heavy for you."