As they mounted the stairs he listened to Winthrop’s account of his illness, and looked at him when they got to the top, with a grave face of concern it was pleasant to meet.  They had come up to the very top; the house was a small and insignificant wooden one, of two stories.

“This is your room,” said Mr. Inchbald, opening the door of the front attic, —­ “this is the room your brother had; it’s not much, and there’s not much in it; but now my dear friend, till you find something better, will you keep possession of it? and give us the pleasure of having you? —­ and one thing more, will you speak of pay when you are perfectly at leisure to think of it, and not before, or never, just as it happens; —­ will you?”

“I’ll take you at your word, sir; and you shall take me at mine, when the time comes.”

“That I’ll do,” said Mr. Inchbald.  “And now it’s a bargain.  Shake hands, —­ and come let’s go down and have some tea. —­ Doll, I hope your tea is good to-night, for Mr. Landholm is far from well.  Sit down —­ I wish your brother had the other place.”

That tea was a refreshment.  It was served in the little back room of the first floor, which had very much the seeming of being Mrs. Nettley’s cooking room too.  The appointments were on no higher scale of pretension than Mrs. Forriner’s, yet they gave a far higher impression of the people that used them; why, belongs to the private mystery of cups and saucers and chairs, which have an odd obstinate way of their own of telling the truth.  “Doll” was the very contrast to the lady of the other tea-table.  A little woman, rather fleshy, in a close cap and neat spare gown, with a face which seemed a compound of benevolent good-will, and anxious care lest everybody should not get the full benefit of it.  It had known care of another kind too.  If her brother had, his jovial, healthy, hearty face gave no sign.

After tea Winthrop went back to Diamond St.

“We didn’t wait for you,” said Mr. Forriner as he came in, —­ “for we thought you didn’t intend probably to be back to tea.”

“What success have you had?” inquired his better half.

“I have had tea, ma’am,” said Winthrop.

“Have you found any place?”

“Or the place found me.”

“You have got one! —­ Where is it?”

“In Beaver St. —­ the place where my brother used to be.”

“What’s the name?” said Mr. Forriner.

“Inchbald.”

“What is he?” asked Mrs. Forriner.

“An Englishman —­ a miniature painter by profession.”

“I wonder if he makes his living at that?” said Mrs. Forriner.

“What do you have to pay?” said her husband.

“A fair rent, sir.  And now I will pay my thanks for storage and take away my trunk.”

“To-night?” said Mr. Forriner.

“Well, cousin, we shall be glad to see you sometimes,” said Mrs. Forriner.