“Miss Spruce will think better of it.”

“You don’t know what I’ve had to go through.  There’s none of them pays, not regular,—­only she and you.  She’s been like the Bank of England, has Miss Spruce.”

“I’m afraid I’ve not been very regular, Mrs Roper.”

“Oh, yes, you have.  I don’t think of a pound or two more or less at the end of a quarter, if I’m sure to have it some day.  The butcher,—­he understands one’s lodgers just as well as I do,—­if the money’s really coming, he’ll wait; but he won’t wait for such as them Lupexes, whose money’s nowhere.  And there’s Cradell; would you believe it, that fellow owes me eight-and-twenty pounds!”

“Eight and twenty pounds!”

“Yes, Mr Eames, eight-and-twenty pounds!  He’s a fool.  It’s them Lupexes as have had his money.  I know it.  He don’t talk of paying, and going away.  I shall be just left with him and the Lupexes on my hands; and then the bailiffs may come and sell every stick about the place.  I won’t say nay to them.”  Then she threw herself into the old horsehair armchair, and gave way to her womanly sorrow.

“I think I’ll go upstairs, and get ready for dinner,” said Eames.

“And you must go away when you come back?” said Mrs Roper.

“Well, yes, I’m afraid I must.  I meant you to have a month’s warning from to-day.  Of course I shall pay for the month.”

“I don’t want to take any advantage; indeed, I don’t.  But I do hope you’ll leave your things.  You can have them whenever you like.  If Chumpend knows that you and Miss Spruce are both going, of course he’ll be down upon me for his money.”  Chumpend was the butcher.  But Eames made no answer to this piteous plea.  Whether or no he could allow his old boots to remain in Burton Crescent for the next week or two, must depend on the manner in which he might be received by Amelia Roper this evening.

When he came down to the drawing-room, there was no one there but Miss Spruce.  “A fine day, Miss Spruce,” said he.

“Yes, Mr Eames, it is a fine day for London; but don’t you think the country air is very nice?”

“Give me the town,” said Johnny, wishing to say a good word for poor Mrs Roper, if it were possible.

“You’re a young man, Mr Eames; but I’m an old woman.  That makes a difference,” said Miss Spruce.

“Not much,” said Johnny, meaning to be civil.  “You don’t like to be dull any more than I do.”

“I like to be respectable, Mr Eames.  I always have been respectable, Mr Eames.”  This the old woman said almost in a whisper, looking anxiously to see that the door had not been opened to other listening ears.

“I’m sure Mrs Roper is very respectable.”

“Yes; Mrs Roper is respectable, Mr Eames; but there are some here that—­Hush-sh-sh!” And the old lady put her finger up to her lips.  The door opened and Mrs Lupex swam into the room.

“How d’ye do, Miss Spruce?  I declare you’re always first.  It’s to get a chance of having one of the young gentlemen to yourself, I believe.  What’s the news in the city to-day, Mr Eames?  In your position now of course you hear all the news.”