On her return she found the bedroom relatively clean, and, knowing that too
much must not be expected at once, she made no comment. That night, as she
sat reading at eleven o'clock, a strange sound arose in the back part of
the house; it was a man's voice, hilariously mirthful and breaking into
rude song. After listening for a few minutes, Miss Rodney rang her bell,
and the landlady appeared.
'Whose Voice is that I hear?'
'Voice, miss?'
'Who is shouting and singing?' asked Miss Rodney, in a disinterested tone.
'I'm sorry if it disturbs you, miss. You'll hear no more.'
'Mrs. Turpin, I asked who it was.'
'My 'usband, miss. But--'
'Thank you. Good night, Mrs. Turpin.'
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.
Pages:
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253