"Mrs. Milner quite failed to appear; but, at eleven o'clock the other one came. I heard her in the hall, fumbling at the keyhole of Bunker's door, and went out.
"'This key will not unlock the door,' she said, and I joined her.
"Trying the key, I found that it did not fit—in fact, that it was a key shaped differently from all other door-keys in that building; and I knew that the befuddled Bunker had made a mistake.
"'He gave you the right key for the street-door,' the widow whimpered; 'why did he give the wrong one for this door?'
"'Drunk,' I growled. 'Come in, and we'll talk it over.'
"'Oh, I cannot,' she complained. 'To think of it! the terrible position I am in! Oh, to think of it!'
"'Don't think of it,' I answered; 'it's all right. Don't think of it, and don't talk of it. I'll say nothing, and I'll go home as soon as I've finished the page I'm on. Come in and sit down.'
"I led her in, and sat her down, but her plaint would not cease. I fancied there was a smell of liquor in the air, but I could not be sure that it was not the clinging odor left by Bunker. I turned to my work, and endeavored to write, but could not; for now her mood changed to one of patronage, and she advised me upon my methods, my style of writing, my manner of living. She promised to be a friend to me all her life. She would help me to reform my rather slap-dash style of writing, and to give it the literary touch, and she would help me in my punctuation. She had made a study of my editorials, and knew all my weak points.
"All this was enough to exasperate a steadier-nerved man than myself. It drove me, barely convalescent from mental collapse, to distraction.
"'Here,' I said, rudely, standing up, 'you will not stop talking, so I must stop work. I'll give it up and go home.'