"Ye must go to bed this minute," said he.
"But he 's in bed," cried Mrs. Machin.
"I mean yerself," said Dr. Stirling.
She was very nearly at the end of her resources. And the proof was that she had no strength left to fight Dr. Stirling. She did go to bed. And shortly afterwards Denry got up. And a little later, Rose Chudd, that prim and efficient young widow from lower down the street, came into the house and controlled it as if it had been her own. Mrs. Machin, whose constitution was hardy, arose in about a week, cured, and duly dismissed Rose with wages and without thanks. But Rose had been. Like the Signal's burglars, she had "effected an entrance." And the house had not been turned upside down. Mrs. Machin, though she tried, could not find fault with the result of Rose's uncontrolled activities.
III
One morning—and not very long afterwards; in such wise did fate seem to favour the young at the expense of the old—Mrs. Machin received two letters which alarmed and disgusted her. One was from her landlord announcing that he had sold the house in which she lived to a Mr. Wilbraham of London, and that in future she must pay the rent to the said Mr. Wilbraham or his legal representatives. The other was from a firm of London solicitors announcing that their client Mr. Wilbraham had bought the house and that the rent must be paid to their agent whom they would name later.
Mrs. Machin gave vent to her emotion in her customary manner:
"Bless us!"
And she showed the impudent letters to Denry.
"Oh!" said Denry. "So he has bought them, has he? I heard he was going to."