miserable time, to know that Eustace had not returned to the
house.

The landlady came in, and took a seat, without waiting to be
invited, close by my side. She was no longer satisfied with
merely asserting herself as my equal. Ascending another step on
the social ladder, she took her stand on the platform of
patronage, and charitably looked down on me as an object of pity.

"I have just returned from Broadstairs," she began. "I hope you
will do me the justice to believe that I sincerely regret what
has happened."

I bowed, and said nothing.

"As a gentlewoman myself," proceeded the landlady--"reduced by
family misfortunes to let lodgings, but still a gentlewoman--I
feel sincere sympathy with you. I will even go further than that.
I will take it on myself to say that I don't blame _you_. No, no.
I noticed that you were as much shocked and surprised at your
mother-in-law's conduct as I was; and that is saying a great
deal--a great deal indeed. However, I have a duty to perform. It
is disagreeable, but it is not the less a duty on that account. I
am a single woman; not from want of opportunities of changing my
condition--I beg you will understand that--but from choice.
Situated as I am, I receive only the most respectable persons
into my house. There must be no mystery about the positions of
_my_ lodgers. Mystery in the position of a lodger carries with
it--what shall I say? I don't wish to offend you--I will say, a
certain Taint. Very well. Now I put it to your own common-sense.