'You went through the floor!' I marvelled. Then my face cleared. The
house was not mine, and, after all, the landlord has no right to escape
these unusual machinations of Fate.

'I knew somethink would 'appen when I put the boots on the table by
accident this mornin',' she explained, 'It's always a Bad Sign.'

You must not think, however, that Elizabeth ever allows her fatalism to
interfere with her judgment. I recall the occasion when she came to me
looking actually concerned and remarked: 'I'm sorry, 'm, but them two
varses that was on the mantelpiece in the pink bedroom----'

I started up. 'Don't dare to say you've been unlucky with them!'

'No'm, I wasn't unlucky. I was just careless when I broke those.'

A low moan escaped my lips. They were the Sèvres vases that I loved
dearest of my possessions, and which, in the words of those who keep
shops, 'cannot be repeated.' I regarded Elizabeth angrily, no longer
able to control my wrath. I am at times (says Henry) a hasty woman. I
ought to have paused and put my love of Sèvres vases in the balance
with the diet of scrambled eggs and the prospect of unlimited
washing-up, and I know which side would have tipped up at once.
However, I did not pause, caring not that the bitter recriminations I
intended to hurl at her would bring forth the inevitable month's
notice; that, at the first hint of her leaving me, at least a dozen of
my neighbours would stretch out eager hands to snatch Elizabeth, a
dozen different vacant sinks were ready for her selection. I did not
care, I say; I had loved my vases and in that moment I hated Elizabeth.