"Come along, child!... The High Street will suit us best, won't it, Agnes?"
"You must best know what you best like, aunt," replied the poor girl almost in a whisper, "but the Crescent seemed to me very quiet and agreeable."
"Quiet!... Yes, I should think so!... And if that's your fancy, it is rather lucky that it's my business to choose, and not yours. And it's my business to pay too.... It's just sixpence," she added with a laugh, and pulling out her purse. "One bun for the young lady, and five for me. Come along, Agnes ... and do throw back that thick crape veil, child.... Your bonnet will look as well again!"
Another half hour settled the situation of their lodgings in Exeter. Smart Mrs. Tompkin's first-floor in the High Street, with a bed in the garret for Jerningham, was secured for three months; at the end of which time Mrs. Barnaby was secretly determined as nearly as possible to lay aside her mourning, and come forth with the apple blossoms, dazzling in freshness, and couleur de rose. The bargain for the lodgings, however, was not concluded without some little difficulty, for Mrs. Tompkins, who owned that she considered herself as the most respectable lodging-house keeper in Exeter, did not receive this second and conclusive visit from the elegant widow with as much apparent satisfaction as was expected.
"Here I am again, Mrs. Tompkins!" said the lively lady in crape and bombasin. "I can see no lodgings I like as well as yours, after all."
"Well.... I don't know, ma'am, about that," replied the cautious Mrs. Tompkins; "but, to say the truth, I'm not over and above fond of lady lodgers ... they give a deal more trouble than gentlemen, and I've always been used to have the officers as long as there were any to be had; and even now, with only three cavalry companies in the barracks, it's a rare chance to find me without them."
"But as you do happen to be without them now, Mrs. Tompkins, and as your bill is up, I suppose your lodgings are to let, and I am willing to take them."
"And may I beg the favour of your name, ma'am?" said the respectable landlady, stiffly.
"Barnaby!" answered the widow, with an emphasis that gave much dignity to the name. "I am the widow of a gentleman of large fortune in the neighbourhood of Silverton, and finding the scene of my lost happiness too oppressive to my spirits, I am come to Exeter with my niece, and only one lady's-maid to wait upon us both, that I may quietly pass a few months in comparative retirement before I join my family and friends in the country, as their rank and fortune naturally lead them into more gaiety than I should at present like to share. I am not much accustomed to be called upon thus to give an account of myself; but this is my name, and this is my station; and if neither happens to satisfy you, I must seek lodgings elsewhere."