“It’s all you know, young man,” she returned. “People as lives in London must take care of theirselves--not wait for other people to do it. They’d soon find theirselves nowheres in partic’lar. I’ve took care on your things, an’ laid ’em all together, an’ the sooner you find another place for ’em the better, for they do take up a deal o’ room.” His personal property was not so bulky, however, but that in ten minutes he had it all in his carpet-bag and a paper parcel, carrying which he re-entered the shop. “Would you oblige me by allowing these to lie here till I come for them?” he said. The woman was silent for a moment. “I’d rather see the last on ’em,” she answered. “To tell the truth, I don’t like the look on ’em. You acts a part, young man. I’m on the square myself. But you’ll find plenty to take you in.--No, I can’t do it. Take ’em with you.” Malcolm turned from her, and with his bag in one hand and the parcel under the other arm, stepped from the shop into the dreary night. There he stood in the drizzle. It was a by-street into which gas had not yet penetrated, and the oil lamps shone red and dull through the fog. He concluded to leave the things with Merton, while he went to find a lodging. Merton was a decent sort of fellow--_not_ in his master’s confidence, and Malcolm found him quite as sympathetic as the small occasion demanded. “It ain’t no sort o’ night,” he said, “to go lookin’ for a bed. Let’s go an’ speak to my old woman: she’s a oner at contrivin’.” He lived over the stable, and they had but to go up the stair. Mrs Merton sat by the fire. A cradle with a baby was in front of it. On the other side sat Caley, in suppressed exultation, for here came what she had been waiting for--the first fruits of certain arrangements between her and Mrs Catanach. She greeted Malcolm distantly, but neither disdainfully nor spitefully. “I trust you’ve brought me back my lady, MacPhail,” she said; then added, thawing into something like jocularity, “I shouldn’t have looked to you to go running away with her.” “I left my lady at Lady Clementina Thornicroft’s an hour ago,” answered Malcolm. “Oh, of course! Lady Clem’s everything now.” “I believe my lady’s not coming home till to-morrow,” said Malcolm. “All the better for us,” returned Caley. “Her room ain’t ready for her.--But I didn’t know you lodged with Mrs Merton, MacPhail,” she said, with a look at the luggage he had placed on the floor. “Lawks, miss!” cried the good woman, “wherever should we put him up, as has but the next room?” “You’ll have to find that out, mother,” said Merton. “Sure you’ve got enough to shake down for him! With a truss of straw to help, you’ll manage it somehow--eh, old lady?--I’ll be bound!” And with that he told Malcolm’s condition. “Well, I suppose we must manage it somehow,” answered his wife, “but I’m afraid we can’t make him over-comfortable.”