ankly for a moment, stirred his
limbs to make his position easier.

Pouring rain in London streets. The cab drove eastward, but for no great
distance. Adela found herself alighting at a lodging-house not far from
the reservoir at the top of Pentonville Hill. Mutimer had taken these
rooms a week ago.

A servant fresh from the blackleading of a grate opened the door to
them, grinning with recognition at the sight of Mutimer. The latter had
to help the cabman to deposit the trunks in the passage. Then Adela was
shown to her bedroom.

It was on the second floor, the ordinary bedroom of cheap furnished
lodgings, with scant space between the foot of the bed and the
fireplace, with a dirty wall-paper and a strong musty odour. The window
looked upon a backyard.

She passed from the bedroom to the sitting-room; here was the same
vulgar order, the same musty smell. The table was laid for dinner.

Mutimer read his wife's countenance furtively. He could not discover how
the abode impressed her, and he put no question. When he returned from
the bedroom she was sitting before the fire, pensive.

'You're hungry, I expect?' he said.

Her appetite was far from keen, but in order not to appear discontented
she replied that she would be glad of dinner.

The servant, her hands and face half washed, presently appeared with a
tray on which were some mutton-chops, potatoes, and a cabbage. Adela did
her best to eat, but the chops were ill-cooked, the vegetables poor in
quality. There followed a rice-pudding; it was nearly cold; coagulated
masses of rice appeared beneath yellowish water. Mutimer made no remark
about the food till the table was cleared. Then he said:

'They'll have to do better than that. The first day, of course--You'll
have a talk with the landlady whilst I'm out to-night. Just let her see
that you won't be content with _anything_; you have to talk plainly to
these people.'

'Yes, I'll speak about it,' Adela replied.

'They made a trouble at first about waiting on us,' Mutimer pursued.
'But I didn't see how we could get our own meals very well. You can't
cook, can you?'

He smiled, and seemed half ashamed to ask the question.

'Oh yes; I can cook ordinary things,' Adela said. 'But--we haven't a
kitchen, have we?'

'Well, no. If we did anything of that kind, it would have to be on this
fire. She charges us four shillings a week more for cooking the dinner.'

He added this information in a tone of assumed care