"To whom does it belong?" asked Lucian.
"Mr. Peacock; he owns most of the property round about here, having bought up the land when the place was first built on. He's seventy years of age, you know, Mr. Denzil," continued Miss Greeb conversationally, "and rich!—Lord! I don't know how rich he is! Building houses cheap and letting them dear; he has made more out of that than in sanding his sugar and chicorying his coffee. He——"
"What is the name of the tenant?" interrupted Lucian, cutting short this rapid sketch of Peacock's life.
"Mrs. Bensusan, one of the largest women hereabouts."
"I don't quite understand."
"Fat, Mr. Denzil. She turns the scale at eighteen stone, and has pretty well broke every weighing machine in the place."
"What reputation has she, Miss Greeb?"
"Oh, pretty good," said the little woman, shrugging her shoulders, "though they do say she overcharges and underfeeds her lodgers."
"She keeps a boarding-house, then?"
"Well, she lets rooms," explained Miss Greeb in a very definite manner, "and those who live in them supply their own food, and pay for service and kitchen fire."