you?"

The old butler replied in a rather gloomy tone:

"She takes my advice, and don't 'ave nothin' to say to 'im. Dreadful
foreign-lookin' man 'e is. Wherever 'e was brought up I can't think!"

"A soldier, wasn't he?"

"So he says. He's one o' these that works for the Vestry; an' then 'e'll
go an' get upon the drink, an' when that sets 'im off, it seems as
if there wasn't no respect for nothing in 'im; he goes on against the
gentry, and the Church, and every sort of institution. I never met no
soldiers like him. Dreadful foreign--Welsh, they tell me."

"What do you think of the street you're living in?"

"I keeps myself to myself; low class o' street it is; dreadful low class
o' person there--no self-respect about 'em."

"Ah!" said Hilary.

"These little 'ouses, they get into the hands o' little men, and they
don't care so long as they makes their rent out o' them. They can't help
themselves--low class o' man like that; 'e's got to do the best 'e can
for 'imself. They say there's thousands o' these 'ouses all over London.
There's some that's for pullin' of 'em down, but that's talkin' rubbish;
where are you goin' to get the money for to do it? These 'ere little
men, they can't afford not even to put a paper on the walls, and the big
ground landlords-you can't expect them to know what's happenin' behind