'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.'
With a sound which was half a sob and half grunt Mrs. Turpin bounced from
the room. It was now inevitable that she should report the state of things
to her husband, and that evening half an hour's circumlocution brought her
to the point. Which of the two lodgers should go? The carpenter paused,
pipe in mouth, before him a geometrical figure over which he had puzzled
for a day or two, and about which, if he could find courage, he wished to
consult the High School mistress.
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