There was quiet for an hour or more. At something after midnight, when Miss Rodney had just finished writing half a dozen letters, there sounded a latch-key in the front door, and some one entered. This person, whoever it was, seemed to stumble about the passage in the dark, and at length banged against the listener's door. Miss Rodney started up and flung the door open. By the light of her lamp she saw a moustachioed face, highly flushed, and grinning. 'Beg pardon,' cried the man, in a voice which harmonised with his look and bearing. 'Infernally dark here; haven't got a match. You're Miss--pardon--forgotten the name--new lodger. Oblige me with a light? Thanks awfully.' Without a word Miss Rodney took a match-box from her chimney-piece, entered the passage, entered the second parlour--that occupied by Mr. Rawcliffe--and lit a candle which stood on the table. 'You'll be so kind,' she said, looking her fellow-lodger in the eyes, 'as not to set the house on fire.' 'Oh, no fear,' he replied, with a high laugh. 'Quite accustomed. Thanks awfully, Miss--pardon--forgotten the name.' But Miss Rodney was back in her sitting-room, and had closed the door. Her breakfast next morning was served by Mabel Turpin, the elder daughter, a stupidly good-natured girl, who would fain have entered into conversation. Miss Rodney replied to a question that she had slept well, and added that, when she rang her bell, she would like to see Mrs. Turpin. Twenty minutes later the landlady entered. 'You wanted me, miss?' she began, in what was meant for a voice of dignity and reserve. 'I don't really wait on lodgers myself.' 'We'll talk about that another time, Mrs. Turpin. I wanted to say, first of all, that you have spoiled a piece of good bacon and two good eggs. I must trouble you to cook better than this.' 'I'm very sorry, miss, that nothing seems to suit you' 'Oh, we shall get right in time!' interrupted Miss Rodney cheerfully. 'You will find that I have patience. Then I wanted to ask you whether your husband and your lodger come home tipsy _every_ night, or only on Saturdays?' The woman opened her eyes as wide as saucers, trying hard to look indignant. 'Tipsy, miss?' 'Well, perhaps I should have said "drunk"; I beg your pardon.' 'All I can say, miss, is that young Mr. Rawcliffe has never behaved himself in _this_ house excepting as the gentleman he is. You don't perhaps know that he belongs to a very high-connected family, miss, or I'm sure you wouldn't' 'I see,' interposed Miss Rodney. 'That accounts for it. But your husband. Is _he_ highly connected?' 'I'm sure, miss, nobody could ever say that my 'usband took too much--not to say _really_ too much. You may have heard him a bit merry, miss, but where's the harm of a Saturday night?' 'Thank you. Then it is only on Saturday nights that Mr. Turpin becomes merry. I'm glad to know that. I shall get used to these little things.'