“That it is. It’s detached, you see, with nothing sordid on either side. The garden in front gives us a landed appearance. Nor are there any black-beetles, rats, or fleas on the premises.” “Yes, there is a very great deal in its favour. However, what I have called to ask you, is, will you let Curling and Conny have these rooms for the present?” “With the greatest pleasure,” I answered, promptly. “Thank you, my boy, and you will live with us?” “I don’t think I have any right to trouble you,” I replied, scarcely relishing the boundless prospect of arguments, reproaches, tears, and hysterics, which my uncle’s suggestion opened up to me. “Oh, nonsense. You don’t think I would ask you to give up your rooms without finding you other accommodation? Conny’s old bed-room shall be prepared for you--it is the second best in the house. Is it settled?” It was settled with _him_, I could see; objections would only make me appear ill-natured; and as it was out of my power to state any reasons for declining his hospitality, I consented with a mind agitated by misgivings. The landlady was then summoned, and after my uncle had been shown over the house, the proposed change was told her. My vanity was not a little flattered by the good lady’s evident reluctance to part with me. My distinctive virtue was no doubt negative--I gave her no trouble. She raised her terms when she heard that a lady was to take my place, but this my uncle did not object to. So she was desired to get her rooms ready that afternoon for the reception of her new lodgers, and my uncle and I then started for the bank. On the road he asked me what had made me hurry away, the night before. “My aunt’s screams,” I answered. “My nerves disappear when a woman cries. I hope she is well this morning.” “Moody, terribly moody. I very much fear that she will never be able to get over her prejudice against Curling.” “They’ll have a kind of home of their own,” said I, “and I suppose before long you’ll furnish a house for them.” “Oh, that I must do as soon as possible, if only for the sake of appearances. It would never do for people to say ‘Hargrave’s daughter is in lodgings. Depend upon it, Hargrave is not the substantial man we have thought him or he would never allow his child to live so meanly.’ A hint of this kind started by the first malicious person it occurred to, would run through the town, and ultimately, perhaps, injure the bank; for people naturally would object to trust their money to a man who, if he is too poor to assist his daughter, must be obviously living beyond his means by residing in such a house as mine.”