large shawl and a straw bonnet largely decorated with crushed artificial
flowers; a very red, angry face appeared beneath it, with watery eyes
and a coarse, half-open mouth. All this Katherine saw, but hardly
observed, so strongly was her attention attracted to a figure that stood
a few paces within the entrance--a tall, thin old man, bent and leaning
on a stick. He was wrapped in a long dressing-gown of dull dark gray,
evidently much worn; slippers were on his feet, and a black velvet
skull-cap on his head, from under which some thin straggling locks of
white hair escaped. His thin aquiline features and dark sunken eyes were
alight with an expression of malignant fury; one long claw-like hand was
outstretched with a gesture of dismissal, the other grasped the top of
his stick. "Begone, you accursed drunken thief!" he was almost screaming
in a shrill voice. "I would take you to the police, court if there was
anything to be got out of you; but it would only be throwing good money
away after bad. Get you gone to the ditch where you'll die! You
guzzling, muzzling fool, to leave my house without a shilling after all
your pilfering!"

While he uttered these words with frightful vehemence, the woman he
addressed kept up a rapid undercurrent of reply.

"Living with a miserable screwy miser like you would make a saint drink!
Do you think people will serve you for nothing, and not pay themselves
somehow? The likes of you are born to be robbed--and may your last crust
be stole from you, you old skinflint!" With this last defiance, she
turned and threw herself hastily into the cab, which crawled away as if
horse and driver were equally rheumatic.

"Shut the door," said the old man, hoarsely, as if exhausted.