Masters would have scorned a suggestion of eavesdropping. He was aroused from the depths of the morning paper, in the columns of which he was immersed, by hearing his own name spoken. That is usually a call to attention to most of us. The voice of the neighbour reached him:
"Yes. My Liza saw 'em walking together, so to speak. Lord, 'e don't look a gent like that, do 'e? But you never know, do you? As I was only sayin' to Mrs. Robinson this very mornin', quiet ones is always the wust. She's a 'ot lot, and no mistake!"
"Are you sure it was my lodger?"
The inquiry was from his own landlady. He recognized her voice, low pitched as it was: there were top notes in it she could never eliminate. The answer came over the garden wall:
"My Liza ain't a fool, I give you my word! There, as I says, you never know, do you? It don't always do to judge by 'pearances. Your ground floor looks as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, as the sayin' is. But she—there! You can tell with 'alf-an-eye what she is."
"Yes. I s'pose there ain't no mistake about that. Fine feathers don't always make fine birds."
"She's going about, in a manner of speaking, plainly dressed too, just now. Ev you noticed it? I see her with my own eyes in Juggins' shop without a single ring on her finger! She as used to ev a 'alf-dozen sparkling di'monds on each 'and."
"Pawned 'em, perhaps."
"No fear! She knows your lodger's well-to-do, and she's working 'im for all 'es wuth, as the sayin' is. Lor! She's up to snuff, I can tell you. As I was sayin' to Mrs. Smith, them kind of women is up to every thing."
A voice, presumably the tones of the afore-mentioned Liza, broke in. The next door neighbour was being called; some one was enquiring about lodgings. The conversation ended with the suddenness of an eye's twinkling.