“What is the idea, uncle?”
“Decent lodgings are not to be got in Updown,” he answered, looking around the room inquisitively; “my wife went everywhere before she settled upon these for you. But this appears a thoroughly comfortable house, with a very presentable and respectable exterior. Indeed it is a house fit for any lady or gentleman to live in.”
“That it is. It’s detached, you see, with nothing sordid on either side. The garden in front gives us a landed appearance. Nor are there any black-beetles, rats, or fleas on the premises.”
“Yes, there is a very great deal in its favour. However, what I have called to ask you, is, will you let Curling and Conny have these rooms for the present?”
“With the greatest pleasure,” I answered, promptly.
“Thank you, my boy, and you will live with us?”
“I don’t think I have any right to trouble you,” I replied, scarcely relishing the boundless prospect of arguments, reproaches, tears, and hysterics, which my uncle’s suggestion opened up to me.
“Oh, nonsense. You don’t think I would ask you to give up your rooms without finding you other accommodation? Conny’s old bed-room shall be prepared for you—it is the second best in the house. Is it settled?”
It was settled with him, I could see; objections would only make me appear ill-natured; and as it was out of my power to state any reasons for declining his hospitality, I consented with a mind agitated by misgivings.
The landlady was then summoned, and after my uncle had been shown over the house, the proposed change was told her. My vanity was not a little flattered by the good lady’s evident reluctance to part with me. My distinctive virtue was no doubt negative—I gave her no trouble. She raised her terms when she heard that a lady was to take my place, but this my uncle did not object to. So she was desired to get her rooms ready that afternoon for the reception of her new lodgers, and my uncle and I then started for the bank.