The Paying Guest | Page 8

catch his train.
Three days later Miss Derrick arrived, bringing with her something like
half-a-ton of luggage. She bounded up the doorsteps, and, meeting Mrs.
Mumford in the hall, kissed her fervently.
'I've got such heaps to tell you Mr. Higgins has given me twenty
pounds to go on with--for myself; I mean; of course he'll pay
everything else. How delighted I am to be here! Please pay the cabman
I've got no change.'
A few hours before this there had come a letter from Mrs. Higgins;
better written and spelt than would have seemed likely.
'Dear Mrs. Mumford,' it ran, 'L. is coming to-morrow morning, and I
hope you won't repent. There's just one thing I meant to have said to
you but forgot, so I'll say it now. If it should happen that any gentleman
of your acquaintance takes a fancy to L., and if it should come to
anything, I'm sure both Mr. H. and me would be most thankful, and Mr.
H. would behave handsome to her. And what's more, I'm sure he would
be only too glad to show in a handsome way the thanks he would owe
to you and Mr. M.--Very truly yours, Susan H. Higgins.'

CHAPTER II
'Runnymede' (so the Mumfords' house was named) stood on its own
little plot of ground in one of the tree-shadowed roads which persuade
the inhabitants of Sutton that they live in the country. It was of red
brick, and double-fronted, with a porch of wood and stucco; bay
windows on one side of the entrance, and flat on the other, made a
contrast pleasing to the suburban eye. The little front garden had a close
fence of unpainted lath, a characteristic of the neighbourhood. At the
back of the house lay a long, narrow lawn, bordered with flower-beds,
and shaded at the far end by a fine horse-chestnut.
Emmeline talked much of the delightful proximity of the Downs; one
would have imagined her taking long walks over the breezy uplands to
Ban stead or Epsom, or yet further afield The fact was, she saw no
more of the country than if she had lived at Brixton. Her windows
looked only upon the surrounding houses and their garden foliage.
Occasionally she walked along the asphalte pavement of the Brighton
Road--a nursemaids' promenade--as far as the stone which marks
twelve miles from Westminster Bridge. Here, indeed, she breathed the
air of the hills, but villas on either hand obstructed the view, and
brought London much nearer than the measured distance. Like her
friends and neighbours, Emmeline enjoyed Sutton because it was a
most respectable little portion of the great town, set in a purer
atmosphere. The country would have depressed her.
In this respect Miss Derrick proved a congenial companion. Louise
made no pretence of rural inclinations, but had a great liking for
tree-shadowed asphalte, for the results of elaborate horticulture, for the
repose and the quiet of villadom.
'I should like to have a house just like this,' she declared, on her first
evening at "Runnymede," talking with her host and hostess out in the
garden. 'It's quite big enough, unless, of course, you have a very large
family, which must be rather a bore.' She laughed ingenuously. 'And
one gets to town so easily. What do you pay for your season-ticket, Mr.

Mumford? Oh, well! that isn't much. I almost think I shall get one.'
'Do you wish to go up very often, then?' asked Emmeline, reflecting on
her new responsibilities.
'Oh! not every day, of course. But a season-ticket saves the bother each
time, and you have a sort of feeling, you know, that you can be in town
whenever you like.'
It had not hitherto been the Mumfords' wont to dress for dinner, but this
evening they did so, and obviously to Miss Derrick's gratification. She
herself appeared in a dress which altogether outshone that of her
hostess. Afterwards, in private, she drew Emmeline's attention to this
garb, and frankly asked her opinion of it.
'Very nice indeed,' murmured the married lady, with a good-natured
smile. 'Perhaps a little--'
'There, I know what you're going to say. You think it's too showy. Now
I want you to tell me just what you think about everything--everything.
I shan't be offended. I'm not so silly. You know I've come here to learn
all sorts of things. To-morrow you shall go over all my dresses with me,
and those you don't like I'll get rid of. I've never had anyone to tell me
what's nice and what isn't. I want to be--oh, well, you know what I
mean.'
'But, my dear,' said Emmeline, 'there's something I don't quite
understand. You say I'm to speak plainly, and so I will. How is it that
you haven't made friends long