“To be sure,” she said. “Here it is; you’ll find those all very good and reasonable. I’ve known most of them myself in past years.”
Ralph thanked her and turned to go, glancing with some compassion at Ivy. “I shall see you again at rehearsal,” he said. “Mind you have something to eat first.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll see to her,” said Mrs. Skoot, vociferously. “She’s to board with me you know, her grandfather made me promise that. Half-past seven for the rehearsal, don’t forget. Your landlady will be able to direct you to the theatre.”
“What an awful woman!” thought Ralph to himself. “The Professor must be out of his mind to let Ivy be with her for six whole months. She may be all that’s virtuous—but as a constant companion! Poor Ivy! I wonder how such a decent little fellow as Skoot comes to have such a wife!”
At this point in his reflections they reached the first house on his list, but found the rooms already secured by other members of the company. The same result followed the next application, and yet again the next. He began to grow tired of wandering about the snowy streets, and catching sight of a card in a window announcing that rooms were to be had, he paused at a neat but unpretentious house and once more made his inquiry.
A very prim-looking widow appeared in answer to his knock; she seemed favourably impressed with his appearance and mentioned her terms.
“That will do very well. I want the rooms for a week,” said Ralph, longing to get into a house, for he was half-frozen and very hungry.
“I don’t take lodgers that keep late hours,” said the widow, cautiously. “I like to lock up by half-past ten, sir.”
Ralph made an ejaculation of dismay. “I’m afraid I can’t promise that,” he said. “I’m an actor, you see, and am not likely to be in by that time.”
The woman’s whole face stiffened, her very cap seemed to grow as rigid as buckram, her upper lip lengthened. “We only take Christians here,” she said in a severe way, and then without another word she closed the door.