“I believe it’s professional etiquette to have a few items that are called ‘extras’,” pursued the prospective hostess. “So I explained that the use of the bathroom--unlimited use--would be an extra, and then little things like bootblacking, or soap, I believe one ought to make a charge for. Laundry, of course, I wouldn’t undertake at all, with my tiny establishment, but it can go into Cross Loman with ours, and I can take all the trouble off his hands, and separate the items, and go through his things when they come back. A very small additional sum would cover all that, as I told him.” “You seem to have thought of everything--” “Well, one must, when one has no one to think for one,” said Mrs. Fazackerly, with her pretty apologetic smile. “And I’m not very practical and have had no previous experience, so that I do want to be on the safe side.” “I’ve very often wondered if I shouldn’t have done well as a business woman, personally. I am really, in some ways, extraordinarily practical,” mused Claire, following her usual methods. “Yes, I’m sure you are.” Mrs. Fazackerly’s voice denoted admiration and agreement. “I’ve always felt that about you. I shall come to you for advice, if I may, once I’ve fairly started.” Mrs. Fazackerly seldom goes to anyone for advice, but she has an unequaled capacity for making her friends and acquaintances feel as though she had done so. “About meals, of course, he’ll have them with us--except when he’s out, as I told him. I hope he’ll make simply heaps of friends here, and be out as much as ever he pleases. There won’t be any nonsense about people having to ask our leave before they invite him to lunch or tea or dine out. We shall,” said Mrs. Fazackerly, I feel sure with truth, “be only too delighted. And when he is in, I shall try and have everything as nice as possible for him. Of course we live very simply indeed, but I told him that. I felt it was much better to be perfectly candid. And of course I know nothing about wine, so I thought I’d simply make that an extra and have up what we’ve got in the cellar. It’s doing nothing there, but I’m sure Father would take some if it were actually on the table, and I expect it would do him good.” “How is your father?” “He’s wonderful,” said Mrs. Fazackerly, with determined enthusiasm. Her parent was then nearer eighty than seventy, and quite famous locally for the strength and the irrationality of his violent prejudices, but Mrs. Fazackerly gayly made the best of him. It was her way to prepare strangers for an introduction to him by declaring, brightly, “Dear Father is rather a personality, you know.” “Is he quite ready to fall in with your scheme--as to the paying guest, I mean?” Claire inquired, delicately. “Oh, quite, I think,” Mrs. Fazackerly replied, in a slightly uncertain tone that conveyed to anyone conversant with her methods that she was adding yet another item to the long list of her deviations from perfect straightforwardness.