Mrs. Barker, a woman of commanding presence and dressed in rusty black, came into the room. She did not utter a word, not even the conventional remark that it was a fine night or that the evenings would soon begin to draw in now. With a funereal but businesslike demeanor she began to remove the debris of the meal, at intervals giving vent to a rasping cough or a malignant sniff. Of her presence Lionel seemed oblivious, for he continued sitting with his back to the door, gazing with apparent interest into the street. This, perhaps, was curious, for the street was but a lane with little traffic and no features worthy of note. Nor was the building opposite calculated to inspire the most sedulous observer, being merely the blank wall of a warehouse. Not a single window relieved the monotony, usually so painful to the artist or the adventurer. And yet Lionel puffed at his pipe, gazing silently in front of him as if at a masterpiece by Whistler. When the landlady had transferred the tea-things to a tray, shaken the crumbs from the table-cloth into the empty grate and folded it, she nerved herself for a direct attack. Placing her arms akimbo--an attitude usually denoting truculent defiance or a pleasurable sense of injustice--she pronounced her lodger's name. Lionel started, as if made aware of her presence for the first time. He took his pipe from his mouth and turned with a pleasant smile. "Good evening, Mrs. Barker," he said with careful politeness. "A fine night, is it not?" She assented with an ill grace. Without giving her time to add to her appreciation, Lionel continued in suave but enthusiastic tones: "Oblige me, Mrs. Barker, by observing the manner in which the sun strikes the opposite wall. Notice the sharp outline of that chimney-pot against the sky. Remark the bold sweep of that piece of spouting--a true secession curve of which the molder was probably completely ignorant. Again, the background! That dull gray monotone----" This rhapsody was interrupted by Mrs. Barker, whose artistic education had consisted in a course of free-hand drawing in a board school and a study of the colored plates issued by the Christmas magazines. It was hardly to be expected that she should wax enthusiastic over the warehouse wall. "It's no good torkin, Mr. Mortimer," she said; "I want my rent." "But how reasonable!" returned Lionel with increased brightness. "How much does it come to? Certain tokens of copper--silver--gold--with some trifling additions for food, fire, etc.----" "One pahnd three sempence for this week," snapped Mrs. Barker. After a pause she added constrainedly, "If yer please."