I’m a featherless biped, ma’am. So I’ve come down to Coltonslough, being, as I understand, the dullest hole upon the earth’s crust, and I mean to go in a perisher.’ A ‘perisher’ was his expression. ‘And I mean to read like old boots; so you may let your servant light me a fire, ma’am, and get me some chops; for I suppose I must resign myself to an existence sustained upon chops so long as I’m at Coltonslough.’” Once more Mrs. Burfield stopped to take breath. Francis Tredethlyn listened in silence, with a moody frown upon his face. Already he hated this man, of whose share in his cousin’s history he was yet ignorant. He felt as we feel sometimes at a play, when we see the villain first appear upon the stage, and know he is a villain, yet do not know what his special crime is to be. “Well, sir, of all the pleasant lodgers that ever darkened a widow’s door, the plucked young gentleman was the pleasantest. He got up early, and went to his books and papers as soon as he was dressed, and had chops and strong green tea for breakfast; and he sat at his books all day, till it was too dark for him to sit any longer, and then he went and strolled up and down the Esplanade, smoking for an hour or so; and then he came in and had more chops and cold brandy-and-water for his dinner, except when I took the liberty of roasting him a fowl, or getting some other little nicety, just by way of variety; and then, after dinner, he went to his books and papers again, and sat up till very late, reading and writing and drinking strong green tea.” “But my cousin Susan,” cried Francis. He was getting impatient under this minute description of the lodger’s habits. “What has all this to do with my cousin?”