"Well, Mrs. Miller," he said again.

"Dr. Renton," she began, faintly gathering her voice as she proceeded,
"I have come to see you about the rent. I am very sorry, sir, to have
made you wait, but we have been unfortunate."

"Sorry, ma'am," he replied, knowing what was coming; "but your
misfortunes are not my affair. We all have misfortunes, ma'am. But we
must pay our debts, you know."

"I expected to have got money from my husband before this, sir," she
resumed, "and I wrote to him. I got a letter from him to-day, sir, and
it said that he sent me fifty dollars a month ago, in a letter; and
it appears that the post-office is to blame, or somebody, for I never
got it. It was nearly three months' wages, sir, and it is very hard
to lose it. If it hadn't been for that your rent would have been paid
long ago, sir."

"Don't believe a word of _that_ story," thought Dr. Renton,
sententiously.

"I thought, sir," she continued, emboldened by his silence, "that if
you would be willing to wait a little longer, we would manage to pay
you soon, and not let it occur again. It has been a hard winter with
us, sir; firing is high, and provisions, and everything; and we're only
poor people, you know, and it's difficult to get along."

The doctor made no reply.

"My husband was unfortunate, sir, in not being able to get employment