"I hope you find it a great comfort."

"It is ten times more uncomfortable than a conscience. It is the
bane of one's existence."

"Why be so proud of having it?"

"You wouldn't understand if I told you," said Judith.

I rose and walked to the window and gazed meditatively at the
rain which swept the uninspiring little street. Judith lives in
Tottenham Mansions, in the purlieus of the Tottenham Court Road.
The ground floor of the building is a public-house, and on summer
evenings one can sit by the open windows, and breathe in the
health-giving fumes of beer and whisky, and listen to the sweet,
tuneless strains of itinerant musicians. When my new fortunes
enabled me to give the dear woman just the little help that
allowed her to move into a more commodious flat, she had the many
mansions of London to choose from. Why she insisted on this
abominable locality I could never understand. It isn't as if the
flat were particularly cheap; indeed the fact of its being
situated over a public-house seems to enhance the rent. She said
she liked the shape of the knocker and the pattern of the
bathroom taps. I dimly perceive that it must have had something
to do with the temperament.

"It always seems to rain when we propose an outing together.
This is the fourth time since Easter," I remarked.

We had planned a sedate country jaunt, but as the day was pouring