But now a greater obstacle to the departure of the luggage than an unwilling cab-driver presented itself, for Miss Fewkes appeared, her tow-coloured hair elaborately done as it always was on a Sunday afternoon to resemble a brand-new yacht’s fender from which state it gradually wore away during the stress of the week. “And what is the meaning of this?” she demanded, folding her arms. Nancy explained why her luggage was going away this afternoon. “Then perhaps you’ll pay my weekly bill, Miss O’Finn, before you remove your boxes?” said Miss Fewkes. “My bill will be paid to-morrow morning before I leave.” “Yes, but I’m not in the habit of permitting my lodgers to remove their luggage until their bills are paid,” Miss Fewkes insisted. Mrs. Pottage gasped. “Well, of all the impudence I ever did hear! Well, I passed the remark to the policeman that you looked like a potted shrimp, but shrimp sauce is more what you ought to be called.” “It’s easy to see what _you_ are,” Miss Fewkes spat out venomously. “The sort of woman _you_ are is plain to any one who’s sharp and has eyes.” At this point, the burly cab-driver, who was evidently afraid of being involved in this feminine dispute, retired downstairs until the matter was settled. “It is easy to see what I am,” Mrs. Pottage agreed. “Because I’m a decent-made woman. But it’s far from easy to see what you are, let me tell you, very far from easy, because you aren’t as big as a second helping of underdone mutton at an eating-house. You _may_ have eyes. So’s a needle. You _may_ be sharp. So’s a needle. And I wouldn’t care to look for you in a haystack any more than what I would a needle, and that’s the solid truth I’m telling you. You asked for it, ma’am, and now you’ve had it, and if you’ll kindly stand on one side you won’t get carried out with the luggage like a speck of dust off of your own dusty banisters.” “This luggage don’t leave my house before my account’s been settled,” Miss Fewkes shrilled. “Not if I have to fetch in a policeman to you.” “Fetch a policeman?” Mrs. Pottage jeered. “Well, for a woman who looks like last night’s buttonhole or a sucked sweet as a kid’s spat out on the pavement, you’ve got a tidy nerve.” Nancy thought that it was time to interfere, because she did not want Letizia to be frightened by the quarrel. “I’m quite willing to pay your bill, Miss Fewkes, if you suspect that I’m trying to give you the slip,” she said. “Not at all,” Mrs. Pottage interposed. “It’s beyond reason giving in to such as she. Let her call this policeman we’ve heard so much about, and it’s my opinion he’ll laugh in her face, that is if he could tell it _was_ her face, which I don’t think.” “You vulgar, impertinent woman,” Miss Fewkes ejaculated.