Theodore was ushered into the little room, and found Mrs. Dobbs seated in state in her big chair. The place was far smaller and poorer than the house in Friar's Row, but in Theodore's eyes it was preferable. There was the possibility of some pretentions to gentility on the part of a dweller in Jessamine Cottage, whereas Friar's Row, though it might, perhaps, be comfortable, was hopelessly ungenteel. Theodore, when he entered the room, made a low bow, which, unlike his salutation on a former occasion, was distinctly a bow, and not a nondescript gesture halfway between a bow and a nod. He had learned by experience that it did not answer to treat Mrs. Dobbs _de haut en bas_. He also made a movement as if to shake hands; but this Mrs. Dobbs ignored, and asked him to sit down, in a coldly civil voice. She had been knitting when he came in, but laid the needles and worsted aside on his entrance, and sat looking at him with her hands folded in her lap. Theodore could scarcely tell why, but this action seemed to prelude nothing pleasant. There was an air of being armed at all points about the old woman, as she sat there looking at him with a steady attention unshared by her knitting. But possibly the work had been laid aside out of politeness. In any case, Theodore told himself that _he_ was not likely to be disconcerted by such a trifle. "How do you do, Mrs. Dobbs?" he asked, when he was seated. "Very well, I'm much obliged to you." Here ensued a pause. "It is some time since we met, Mrs. Dobbs." "It's over a twelvemonth since you called at my house in Friar's Row, Mr. Theodore Bransby." Another pause. "There has been trouble in the Cheffington family since then," said Theodore, at length. "Ah, how strange and unexpected was the death of the eldest son! Lucius, of course, was always delicate. Still, he might have lived. His death has been a sad blow to Lord Castlecombe." Theodore considered himself to be condescending and conciliatory, in thus assuming that Mrs. Dobbs took some part in the affliction of the noble family. In his heart he resented her having the most distant connection with them. But he intended to be polite. "There has been trouble in other families besides the Cheffingtons," returned Mrs. Dobbs gravely, with her eyes on the young man's mourning garments. "Oh! Yes. Of course. But no trouble with which you can be expected to concern yourself," he answered. He was annoyed, and preserved his smooth manner only by an effort. "And, anyway," continued Mrs. Dobbs, "Lord Castlecombe's sons have left no fatherless children, nor widows, nor any one to be desolate and oppressed--like your poor father did." Theodore raised his eyebrows in his favourite supercilious fashion. "Your figurative language is a little stronger than the case requires," he said. "Widowhood is a desolate thing, and poverty oppressive. There's no figure in that, I'm sorry to say."