sort of woman who is seen in those streets by the score--a tallish,
thinnish woman, old before her time, perpetually harassed, always anxious,
always looking as if she expected misfortune. Her face was full of anxiety
now as she glanced at her lodger--who, on his part, flushed all over his
handsome young face with conscious embarrassment. He knew very well what
the woman wanted--and he was powerless to respond to her appeal.

"Mr. Lauriston," she said in a half whisper, "when do you think you'll be
able to let me have a bit of money? It's going on for six weeks now, you
know, and I'm that put to it, what with the rent, and the rates--"

Andrew Lauriston shook his head--not in denial, but in sheer perplexity.

"Mrs. Flitwick," he answered, "I'll give you your money the very minute I
get hold of it! I told you the other day I'd sold two stories--well, I've
asked to be paid for them at once, and the cheque might be here by any
post. And I'm expecting another cheque, too--I'm surprised they aren't
both here by this time. The minute they arrive, I'll settle with you. I'm
wanting money myself--as badly as you are!"

"I know that, Mr. Lauriston," assented Mrs. Flitwick, "and I wouldn't
bother you if I wasn't right pressed, myself. But there's the landlord at
me--he wants money tonight. And--you'll excuse me for mentioning it--but,
till you get your cheques, Mr. Lauriston, why don't you raise a bit of
ready money?"

Lauriston looked round at his landlady with an air of surprised enquiry.

"And how would I do that?" he asked.