The man assumed an air of some deference.

"Mr Devitt! Our leading inhabitant--sings baritone," remarked the
station-master.

"Indeed!"

"A fair voice, but a little undisciplined in the lower register.
This is quite between ourselves."

"Of course. Do you think you can help me to find rooms?"

"I wish I could. Let me think."

Mr Medlicott, as he was called, put the tips of his fingers
together, while he reflected. Mavis watched his face for something
in the nature of encouragement.

"Dear! dear! dear! dear!" he complained.

"Don't bother. It's good of you to think of it at all," said Mavis.

"Stay! I have it. Why didn't I think of it before? Mrs Farthing: the
very thing."

"Where does she live?"

"The Pennington side of Melkbridge--over a mile from here; but I
know you'd find there everything that you desire."