Mrs Fiddison was a tall, thin lady, who was supposed to be a widow from her display of caps; but the fact was that she had no right to the matronly prefix, she being a blighted flower--a faded rosebud, on whom the sun of love had never shone; and the consequence was that her head drooped upon its stalk, hung over weakly on one shoulder, while a dewdrop-like tear stood in one eye; and, like carbonic acid gas concealed in soda-water, she always had an indefinite number of sighs waiting to escape from her lips. She smiled sadly at Richard, and waved him to a chair, to have taken which would have caused the immolation of a widow's cap--which, however, Mrs Fiddison rescued, and perched awry upon her head, to be out of the way. "This gentleman wants apartments, Mrs F.," said Mrs Jenkles. "Mine are to let," said Mrs Fiddison, sadly; "but does the gentleman play anything brass?" Richard stared, and then remembered about the last lodger. "Oh, dear, no," he said, smiling. "Because I don't think I could bear it again, let alone the neighbours' lodgers," said Mrs Fiddison. "I might put up with strings, or wood, but I could not manage brass." "I do not play any instrument," said Richard, looking at the lady in a troubled way, as her head drooped over the cap she was making, and she gazed at it like a weeping widow on a funeral card. "So many orchestral gentlemen live about here," said Mrs Fiddison. "You can hear the double bass quite plain at Cheadley's, next door but one; but Waggly's have given the kettledrum notice." "Indeed," said Richard, glancing at Mrs Jenkles, who stood smoothing her apron. "Yes," said Mrs Fiddison, holding out the white crape starched grief before him, so that he might see the effect of her handiwork. "The last new pattern, sir." Richard stared at Mrs Jenkles, and that lady came to his assistance. "Mrs F. makes weeds for a wholesale house, sir." "They ought to be called flowers of grief, Mrs Jenkles," said the lady. "A nice quiet, genteel business, sir; and if you don't object to the smell of the crape, you'd not know there was anything going on in the house." "Oh, I'm sure I shouldn't mind," said Richard. "Prr-oooomp!" went something which sounded like young thunder coming up in the cellar. "That's the double bass at Cheadley's, sir," said Mrs Fiddison; "and, as I was a-saying, you'll find the rooms very quiet, for Waggly's have given the kettledrum notice. Mrs Waggly said she was sure it was that made her have the bile so bad; and I shouldn't wonder if it was." "And the terms," said Richard. "You are sure you don't play anything brass, sir?" said Mrs Fiddison, looking at him with her head all on one side, as if to say, "Now, don't deceive a weak woman!" "Indeed, I am not musical at all," said Richard, smiling. "Because it isn't pleasant, sir, for a landlady who wishes to make things comfortable," continued Mrs Fiddison, smiling at the cap--which she had now put on her left fist--as if it were a face.