But still I'm my own
mistress. No one interferes with me. At the same time I don't interfere
with anybody else. I have the right to use the kitchen for my cooking,
but really Mrs. Cleghorne--that is the woman who keeps the house--really
she is not a clean cook, and very often my stomach is so turned that I
go all day with only a cup of tea."

Michael was grateful to the impulse which had led him to cook his own
breakfast on a chafing dish.

"I interrupted you," he said. "You were going to tell me something about
Mrs. Cleghorne."

"Well, you must know, I had a friend who was very good to me, and this
seemed to annoy her. Perhaps she disliked the independence it gave me.
Well, she really caused a row between us by telling me she'd seen him
going round drinking with another woman. Now that isn't a nice thing to
do, is it? One doesn't want to go round drinking in public-houses. It
looks so bad. I spoke to him about it a bit sharp, and we've fallen out
over it. In fact, I haven't seen him for some months. Still I shouldn't
complain, but just lately what with one thing and another I had some
extras to get for my boy which was highly necessary you'll
understand--well, as I was saying--what with one thing and another my
rent has been a little bit behind. Still, after you've paid regular for
close on two years, you expect a little consideration."

"Have you lived in this burrow for two years?" Michael asked in
amazement.

"In the week before Christmas it'll be two years. Yes. Not that Mrs.
Cleghorne herself has been so nasty, but she lets her mother come round
here and abuse me. Her mother's an old woman, you'll understand, and her
language--well, really it has sometimes made me feel sick." She put her
hand up to her face with a gesture of disgust. "She stands in that
doorway and bullies me until I'm ashamed to sit on this bed and stand
it. I really am. You'd hardly believe there was such things to say to
anyone. I think I have a right to feel aggravated, and I've made up my
mind she isn't going to do it again. I'm not going to _have_ it." She
was nodding at Michael with such energetic affirmation that the springs
of the bed creaked.

"The mother doesn't live here?" he asked.

"Oh, no; she simply comes here for the purpose of bullying me. But I'm
not going to let it occur again. I don't consider I've been well
treated. If I'd spent the money on gin, I shouldn't so much object to
what the old woman calls me, for I don't