had long since departed this life--had been addicted to alcohol, and
at those times when he should have been earning, he was usually to be
found in a drinking shanty spending his wife's earnings in
"shouting" for himself and his friends. The constant drinking, and the
hot Victorian climate, soon carried him off, and when Mrs. Hableton had
seen him safely under the ground in the Melbourne Cemetery, she
returned home to survey her position, and see how it could be bettered.
She gathered together a little money from the wreck of her fortune, and
land being cheap, purchased a small "section" at St. Kilda, and built a
house on it. She supported herself by going out charing, taking in
sewing, and acting as a sick nurse, So, among this multiplicity of
occupations, she managed to exist fairly well.

And in truth it was somewhat hard upon Mrs. Hableton. For at the time
when she should have been resting and reaping the fruit of her early
industry, she was obliged to toil more assiduously than ever. It was
little consolation to her that she was but a type of many women, who,
hardworking and thrifty themselves, are married to men who are nothing
but an incubus to their wives and to their families. Small wonder,
then, that Mrs. Hableton should condense all her knowledge of the male
sex into the one bitter aphorism, "Men is brutes."

Possum Villa was an unpretentious-looking place, with one, bow-window
and a narrow verandah in front. It was surrounded by a small garden in
which were a few sparse flowers--the especial delight of Mrs.
Hableton. It was, her way to tie an old handkerchief round her head and
to go out into the garden and dig and water her beloved flowers until,
from sheer desperation at the overwhelming odds, they gave up all
attempt to grow. She was engaged in this favourite occupation about a
week after her lodger had gone. She wondered where he was.