"Don't think I want you to have it; because I don't," said Mrs. Hatchard,
making a preliminary movement to showing him downstairs.

"They might suit me," said Mr. Hatchard, musingly, as he peeped in at the
sitting-room door. "I shouldn't be at home much. I'm a man that's fond
of spending his evenings out."

Mrs. Hatchard, checking a retort, eyed him grimly.

"I've seen worse," he said, slowly; "but then I've seen a good many. How
much are you asking?"

"Seven shillings a week," replied his wife. "With breakfast, tea, and
supper, a pound a week."

Mr. Hatchard nearly whistled, but checked himself just in time.

"I'll give it a trial," he said, with an air of unbearable patronage.

Mrs. Hatchard hesitated.

"If you come here, you quite understand it's on a business footing," she
said.

"O' course," said the other, with affected surprise. "What do you think
I want it on?"

"You come here as a stranger, and I look after you as a stranger,"
continued his wife.