of which it was impossible to recollect, when it had been seen even a
dozen times, any feature except the eyes, which were steel-blue, a
little bluer than the faceted head of the steel poker in her parlour,
but just as hard. She lived in the basement with a maid, much like
herself but a little more human. Although the front underground room
was furnished Mrs Cork never used it, except on the rarest occasions,
and a kind of apron of coloured paper hung over the fireplace nearly
all the year. She was a woman of what she called regular habits. No
lodger was ever permitted to transgress her rules, or to have meals
ten minutes before or ten minutes after the appointed time. She had
undoubtedly been married, but who Cork could have been was a marvel.
Why he died, and why there were never any children were no marvels.
At two o'clock her grate was screwed up to the narrowest possible
dimensions, and the ashes, potato peelings, tea leaves and cabbage
stalks were thrown on the poor, struggling coals. No meat, by the
way, was ever roasted--it was considered wasteful--everything was
baked or boiled. After half-past four not a bit of anything that was
not cold was allowed till the next morning, and, indeed, from the
first of April to the thirty-first of October the fire was raked out
the moment tea was over. Mrs Hopgood one night was not very well and
Clara wished to give her mother something warm. She rang the bell
and asked for hot water. Maria came up and disappeared without a
word after receiving the message. Presently she returned.

'Mrs Cork, miss, wishes me to tell you as it was never understood as
'ot water would be required after tea, and she hasn't got any.'

Mrs Hopgood had a fire, although it was not yet the thirty-first of
October, for it was very damp and raw. She had with much difficulty
induced Mrs Cork to concede this favour (which probably would not