prominent temple like a piece of rich black velvet; a dark shadow defined
the delicate nose, and hinted at thin indecision of lips, whilst a broad
touch of white marked the weak but not unbeautiful chin.

On the corner of the table lay a book, a well-worn volume in a faded red
paper cover. It was a novel she used to read with delight when she was a
girl, but it had somehow failed to interest her, and after a few pages she
had laid it aside, preferring for distraction her accustomed sewing. She
was now well awake, and, as she worked, her thoughts turned on things
concerning the daily routine of her life. She thought of the time when her
husband would be well: of the pillow she was making; of how nice it would
look in the green armchair; of the much greater likelihood of letting their
rooms if they were better furnished; of their new lodger; and of the
probability of a quarrel between him and her mother-in-law, Mrs. Ede.

For more than a week past the new lodger had formed the staple subject of
conversation in this household. Mrs. Ede, Kate's mother-in-law, was loud in
her protestations that the harbouring of an actor could not but be attended
by bad luck. Kate felt a little uneasy; her puritanism was of a less marked
kind; perhaps at first she had felt inclined to agree with her
mother-in-law, but her husband had shown himself so stubborn, and had so
persistently declared that he was not going to keep his rooms empty any
longer, that for peace' sake she was fain to side with him. The question
arose in a very unexpected way. During the whole winter they were
unfortunate with their rooms, though they made many attempts to get
lodgers; they even advertised. Some few people asked to see the rooms; but
they merely made an offer. One day a man who came into the shop to buy some
paper collars asked Kate if she had any apartments to let. She answered
yes, and they went upstairs. After a cursory inspection he told her that he
was the agent in advance to a travelling opera company, and that if she