“You haven’t heard, Hannah, what has happened to me,” she said, when Mrs Protheroe expressed her surprise at this decision. “My brother’s will was no will at all. I do not get any of his property. It all goes under some other will to my cousin, Mr John Ball.”

By these tidings Hannah was of course prostrated, and driven into a state of excitement that was not without its pleasantness as far as she was concerned. Of course she objected that the last will must be the real will, and in this way the matter came to full discussion between them.

“And, after all, that John Ball is to have everything!” said Mrs Protheroe, holding up both her hands. By this time Hannah Protheroe had got herself comfortably into a chair, and no doubt her personal pleasure in the evening’s occupation was considerably enhanced by the unconscious feeling that she was the richer woman of the two. But she behaved very well, and I am inclined to think, in preparing buttered muffins for her guest, she was more particular in the toasting, and more generous with the butter, than she would have been had she been preparing the dainty for drawing-room use. And when she learned that Margaret had eaten nothing since breakfast, she herself went out and brought in a sweetbread with her own hand, though she kept a servant whom she might have sent to the shop. And, for the honour of lodging-house keepers, I protest that that sweetbread never made its appearance in any bill.

“You will be more comfortable down here with me, won’t you, my dear, than up there, with not a creature to speak to?”

In this way Mrs Protheroe made her apology for giving Miss Mackenzie her tea downstairs, in a little back parlour behind the kitchen. It was a tidy room, with two wooden armchairs, and a bit of carpet over the flags in the centre, and a rug before the fire. Margaret did not inquire why it smelt of tobacco, nor did Mrs Protheroe think it necessary to give any explanation why she went up herself at half-past seven to answer the bell at the area; nor did she say anything then of the office messenger from Somerset House, who often found this little room convenient for his evening pipe. So was passed the first evening after our Griselda had left the Cedars.

The next day she sat at home doing nothing,—still talking to Hannah Protheroe, and thinking that perhaps John Ball might come. But he did not come. She dined downstairs, at one o’clock, in the same room behind the kitchen, and then she had tea at six. But as Hannah intimated that perhaps a gentleman friend would look in during the evening, she was obliged to betake herself, after tea, to the solitude of her own room. As Hannah was between fifty and sixty, and nearer the latter age than the former, there could be no objection to her receiving what visitors she pleased. The third day passed with Miss Mackenzie the same as the second, and still no cousin came to see her. The next day, being Sunday, she diversified by going to church three times; but on the Sunday she was forced to dine alone, as the gentleman friend usually came in on that day to eat his bit of mutton with his friend, Mrs Protheroe.