"You've let my rooms? Oh, come now!—But now I think of it, I believe I did say something about a month or so, when I spoke to John Philip. Well now, what will you do? Put me out into the road? Or can you find me somewhere else?—though I'm quite sure you'll not be able to find me any place as comfortable as this."
"Whatt will we do?" she said, much disturbed, and gazed at him thoughtfully. Then, with sudden inspiration, "There iss the big house up the garden?" and looked at him hopefully.
"But it's empty."
"Everything iss there, and all ready for them to come any time they want to. It woult only mean making up a bed and you coult come here for your meals."
"That would do first-rate if you can arrange it."
"I will write to Mrs. Lee to-day and ask her to tell me by the telegraph. It will be all right."
"That's all right then. Who's the wretched person who is turning me out of here?"
"It is two leddies. They wrote to the Vicar, and he asked John Philip and he told my man."
"Two ladies! Then I can't possibly have my meals in here. You'd better let me join you in the kitchen,"—a consummation he had been striving after for some time past, in fact ever since his literary instincts had shaken off the thrall and got their heads above the mists,—with a view, of course, of turning a more intimate knowledge of his surroundings to profitable account.
But his hostess was jealous of her kitchen and would not hear of it.