It would not be his present laundress, a buxom matron of about five and thirty, who had never been known to any present inhabitant of Ferret Court without the encumbrance of a baby in arms, or a baby at the breast. As fast as one baby was disposed of, there was another coming forward to take its place. She always brought her baby with her, and left it about in obscure corners, like an umbrella. It was always of the order of infant designated good; that is to say, it was not a squalling baby. There were some of Mrs. Armstrong’s clients who suspected her of keeping it in a semi-narcotized condition in the interests of her profession; but when this practice was hinted at the matron referred to the necessities of teething, and hoped she did not require to be reminded of her duty as a mother. This good person brought in the lighted lamp while Theodore was pacing up and down the narrow limits of his sitting-room. She placed the lamp on the table, looked inquiringly at her employer, and then retired, only to return with the tea-tray, which she arranged lingeringly. She was a talkative person, with an active intellect, and it irked her to leave the room without any scrap of conversation, were it only an inquiry about the postman, or a casual remark upon the weather. Nothing being forthcoming from Mr. Dalbrook, she withdrew to the door, but paused upon the threshold and dropped a curtsey. “I’m afraid we’re going to have a storm to-night, sir,” she said. The fear was a thing of the moment, inspired by her desire to talk. “Do you think so, Mrs. Armstrong?” “I do, indeed, sir. It couldn’t be that ’eavy if there wasn’t thunder in the air.” “Perhaps not,” replied Theodore, indifferently. “Ah! by the way, how long have you looked after these chambers?” “From three years before I was married, sir.” “Is that long?” “Lor’, yes, sir; I should think it was! Why, my Joseph was thirteen on his last birthday!” “Let me see; that would mean about seventeen years, wouldn’t it?” “Yes, sir.” “And I suppose you knew nothing about the chambers before that time.” “I won’t say that, sir. I’ve known them more or less ever since I could run alone. Mother looked after them before me. It was only when the rheumatics took such firm hold of her”—this was said as if Theodore were thoroughly posted in the case—“that mother gave up. She had done for the gentlemen in this house for over twenty years; though when she married father she never thought to have to do such work as this, he being a master carpenter and cabinet-maker with a nice business—and she’d been brought up different, and had more education than any of _us_ ever had.” “Then your mother must have known this house when Mr. Dalbrook had the ground floor—the Mr. Dalbrook who is now Lord Cheriton,” said Theodore, cutting short this biographical matter.