'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.
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