They got out, and going up four much-worn stone steps, rang the bell, and were admitted by an old woman, who said that she didn’t know whether Mr. Pennant had come home yet, but she would see. She turned and walked to the end of the hall, which was narrow, dingy, and dark. Knocking at a door on the right, she opened it without waiting for an answer and announced: “Some ladies to see you, sir.” “Show them in,” said a voice which neither recognised. Mrs. Pennant and Deborah traversed the passage slowly, both prepared for some great change in Rees. Therefore, at the first moment of meeting, they were both inclined to think the alteration in him less great than it really was. The room was small and very dark, for the little daylight that filtered through the fog was obscured by the backs of the neighboring houses. The furniture was of the dingy kind peculiar to the back rooms of London lodging-houses, and the fire which burned in the small grate gave forth plenty of smoke, but little flame and less heat. On a desk in front of the window were pens, ink, some sheets of blue foolscap, and a legal looking document, one pen lying as if it had recently been used. Rees was sitting by the fire, with a newspaper in his hand. He got up to meet them, but it was with more nervous excitement than pleasure that he kissed his mother and shook hands with Deborah. Both saw at once that he was much thinner than he used to be, and that the old boyish, light-hearted expression had left his face. But it was not until the flush which had come into his cheeks at their entrance had died away that they knew what a wreck of the Rees they had known and loved was before them. His cheeks were sallow and sunken, his eyes looked larger and blacker than ever, there were new lines and furrows forming about his mouth and eyes, and, greater change than all, the look which had been frank had become cynical and bold. Even these two simple ladies could see that many people--women especially--would have considered Rees handsomer now than in the old time, but yet both knew that the alteration in him was for the worse. Mrs. Pennant affected to think that her son was overworked. Deborah, who assigned a very different cause to the change in him, wondered whether the reticent old lady was sincere. Rees explained that he had lost his situation at the lawyer’s through no fault of his own, and that he was now keeping himself by law-copying at home. And he glanced at the desk. Although he hurried this out in a mumbling tone, Mrs. Pennant made no indiscreet comments, but contented herself with caressing his curly head and murmuring, “Poor boy, poor boy!” After an hour spent in the dingy little room, Rees asking many questions about the family and about Carstow, and leaving no opportunity for questions in return, Mrs. Pennant asked if he would come out and take them somewhere to lunch. “You know,” she explained gently, “we have had no breakfast.”