With the arrival of the day Mrs. Montmorency was able to approach the problem with a clearer headache. She recollected, with a start, that only a few inches of brick and plaster separated her from her one-time husband.
Emma did not offer her breakfast on Sunday mornings, for to do so was to incur a rebuke for sauciness—and so, when dressed, nothing prevented Mrs. Montmorency from getting to work at once upon the eviction of her tenants.
For a long while she sat with the pen in her mouth and her brows contracted in thought. To tell the truth, she was not gifted with a high standard of literary attainment. As a girl, she could dash off as many as you please of the “My own darling boy” sort of letters which ended with “tons of love and kisses,” but this severer kind of exchange presented abundant difficulties. With the exception of Eliphalet, none of her husbands, or those who had passed as such, was of a scholarly turn. Harrington May, Mornice’s father, on whose account Eliphalet had divorced her, though by no means a fool, had not troubled to obtrude his erudition upon her. Similarly, none of the other hands through which she had passed had used their skill to mould her intellect.
At last, however, she contrived a letter which gave her every sort of satisfaction. It ran:
Sir,—My Emma in my absence let you rooms at terms unsatisfactory to myself. Mrs. Montmorency is a lady who does not take in lodgers without good credenshalls. This is not to in any way say that your credenshalls may not be all right, but as I have no knowledge of you she feels the let is not satisfactorily. It would be necessary under such a state as yours for payment to be made for the whole time of three weeks in advance. As it is not likely under your present state you could do this or be able she feels obliged to ask you to go elsewhere without trying to be impolite.
I beg to remain,
Yours faithfully,
Mrs. B. Montmorency.
Mornice had brought Ronald in to lunch, and this letter was handed to Eliphalet simultaneously with the apple-tart. He frowned a little as he read it, and remarking “Extraordinary woman!” handed it to Mornice.
“Oh, it’s sweet!” cried Mornice. “Read it, Pyjams.” Then to Emma, “Do ask her to come in.”