Mrs. Turpin had never been so worried. The more she thought of the possibility of Miss Rodney's leaving the house, the less did she like it. Notwithstanding Mr. Rawcliffe's 'family,' it was growing clear to her that, as a stamp of respectability and a source of credit, the High School mistress was worth more than the solicitor's clerk. Then there was the astonishing change that had come over Turpin, owing, it seemed, to his talk with Miss Rodney; the man spent all his leisure time in 'making shapes and figuring'--just as he used to do when poor Harry was at the Grammar School. If Miss Rodney disappeared, it seemed only too probable that Turpin would be off again to 'The Swan With Two Necks.' On the other hand, the thought of 'giving notice' to Mr. Rawcliffe caused her something like dismay; how could she have the face to turn a real gentleman out of her house? Yes, but was it not true that she had lost money by him--and stood to lose more? She had never dared to tell her husband of Mr. Rawcliffe's frequent shortcomings in the matter of weekly payments. When the easy-going young man smiled and nodded, and said, 'It'll be all right, you know, Mrs. Turpin; you can trust _me_, I hope,' she could do nothing but acquiesce. And Mr. Rawcliffe was more and more disposed to take advantage of this weakness. If she could find courage to go through with the thing, perhaps she would be glad when it was over. Three days went by. Rawcliffe led an unusually quiet and regular life. There came the day on which his weekly bill was presented. Mrs. Turpin brought it in person at breakfast, and stood with it in her hand, an image of vacillation. Her lodger made one of his familiar jokes; she laughed feebly. No; the words would not come to her lips; she was physically incapable of giving him notice. 'By the bye, Mrs. Turpin,' said Rawcliffe in an offhand way, as he glanced at the bill, 'how much exactly do I owe you?' Pleasantly agitated, his landlady mentioned the sum. 'Ah! I must settle that. I tell you what, Mrs. Turpin. Let it stand over for another month, and we'll square things up at Christmas. Will that suit you?' And, by way of encouragement, he paid his week's account on the spot, without a penny of deduction. Mrs. Turpin left the room in greater embarrassment than ever. Saturday came. At breakfast Miss Rodney sent for the landlady, who made a timid appearance just within the room. 'Good morning, Mrs. Turpin. What news have you for me? You know what I mean?' The landlady took a step forward, and began babbling excuses, explanations, entreaties. She was coldly and decisively interrupted. 'Thank you, Mrs. Turpin, that will do. A week to-day I leave.'