Rymer's letter might have
miscarried. At once there came the politest and friendliest reply. Mr.
Rymer (wrote his wife) was out of town, and had been so overwhelmed with
business that the matter of the rent must have altogether escaped his mind;
he would be back in a day or two, and the cheque should be sent at the
earliest possible moment; a thousand apologies for this unpardonable
neglect. Still the cheque did not come; another quarter-day arrived, and
again no rent was paid. It was now a month after Christmas, and Miss
Shepperson, for the first time in her life, found her accounts in serious
disorder. This morning she had a letter from Mrs. Rymer, the latest of a
dozen or so, all in the same strain--
'I really feel quite ashamed to take up the pen,' wrote the graceful lady,
in her delicate hand. 'What _must_ you think of us! I assure you that
never, never before did I find myself in such a situation. Indeed, I should
not have the courage to write at all, but that the end of our troubles is
already in view. It is _absolutely certain_ that, in a month's time, Mr.
Rymer will be able to send you a cheque in complete discharge of his debt.
Meanwhile, I _beg_ you to believe, dear Miss Shepperson, how very, _very_
grateful I am to you for your most kind forbearance.
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