Bessie could think of no other suggestion to make, but went away determined to think out some other plan for getting Mrs. Coates' lodger out of Hadley.
The next time Mrs. Coates had an interview with her lodger, he suddenly asked: "Who was that woman who wanted to get me packed off to Warley?"
"Mrs. Jones," was the curt answer.
"And who's Mrs. Jones?"
"A very nice woman," turning round quite fiercely towards him, "a very nice young woman indeed, and I can't see why you shouldn't be willing to let her do you a kindness—that I can't!"
"Perhaps not," he replied, "but you haven't told me yet who she is. There are heaps of Mrs. Jones."
"She used to live with Mrs. Waring; she's the daughter of Mr. Marchant, the chemist. I wish you'd let me ask Mrs. Waring to come and see you," exclaimed Mrs. Coates, not giving "Richard Wood" time to reply, the very mention of Phebe's name bringing, what she thought, a bright idea into her head; "she would be sure to know what was the best thing for you to do! I always take all my troubles to her."
"Look here, woman!" exclaimed the lodger angrily, "don't bring that friend of yours here, for I will not see her. Please remember that."
"But she is a good woman."
"Is she!"—with a sneer.