rry. I'm
greatly obliged to you, Mr. Pomfret, for all the trouble you are taking.
We'll settle the date in a day or two--a day or two.'

With a good-humoured nod Pomfret moved to take his leave. Our eyes met; we
left the house together. Out in the street again I took a deep breath of
the summer air, which seemed sweet as in a meadow after that stifling room.
My companion evidently had a like sensation, for he looked up to the sky
and broadened out his shoulders.

'Eh, but it's a grand day! I'd give something for a walk on Ilkley Moors.'

As the best substitute within our reach we agreed to walk across Regent's
Park together. Pomfret's business took him in that direction, and I was
glad of a talk about Christopherson. I learnt that the old book-lover's
landlady was Pomfret's aunt. Christopherson's story of affluence and ruin
was quite true. Ruin complete, for at the age of forty he had been obliged
to earn his living as a clerk or something of the kind. About five years
later came his second marriage.

'You know Mrs. Christopherson?' asked Pomfret.

'No! I wish I did. Why?'

'Because she's the sort of woman it does you good to know, that's all.
She's a lady--_my_ idea of a lady. Christopherson's a gentleman too,
there's no denying it; if he wasn't, I think I should have punched his head
before now. Oh, I know 'em well! why, I lived in the house there with 'em
for several years. She's a lady to the end of her little finger, and how
her husband can 'a borne to see her living the life she has, it's more than
I can understand. By--! I'd have turned burglar, if I could 'a found no
other way of keeping her in comfort.'

'She works for her living, then?'

'Ay, and for his too. No, not teaching; she's in a shop in Tottenham Court
Road; has what they call a good place, and earns thirty shillings a week.
It's all they have, but Christopherson buys books out of it.'

'But has he never done anything since their marriage?'

'He did for the first few years, I believe, but he had an illness, and that
was the end of it. Since then he's only loafed. He goes to all the
book-sales, and spends the rest of his time sniffing about the second-hand
shops. She? Oh, she'd never say a word! Wait till you've seen her.'

'Well, but,' I asked, 'what has happened. How is it they're leaving
London?'

'Ay, I'll tell you; I was coming to that. Mrs. Christopherson has relatives
well off--a fat and selfish lot, as far as I can make out--never