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.' Another page of
almost affectionate protests closed with the touching subscription, 'ever
yours, sincerely and gratefully, Adelaide Rymer.'

But Miss Shepperson had fallen into that state of nervous agitation which
impels to a decisive step. She foresaw the horrors of pecuniary
embarrassment. Her faith in the Rymers' promises was exhausted. This very
morning she would go to see Mrs. Rymer, lay before her the plain facts of
the case, and with all firmness--with unmistakable resolve--make known to
her that, if the arrears were not paid within a month, notice to quit would
be given, and the recovery of the debt be sought by legal process. Fear had
made Miss Shepperson indignant; it was wrong and cowardly for people such
as the Rymers to behave in this way to a poor woman who had only just
enough to live upon. She felt sure that they _could_ pay if they liked; but
because she had shown herself soft and patient, they took advantage of her.
She would be firm, very firm.

So, about ten o'clock, Miss Shepperson put on her best things, and set out