did not know when—give him a living, he did not know where, and that Janet should habitually wear a blue muslin like that she had worn to-day. And just as this blissful vision was complete, the one-eyed maid knocked at the door with, 'Please, Sir, missus sends the weekly bills." If he had had Rachel's turn for quotation, he could not have helped saying:
He had always disliked this particular Gulnare, who passed in ordinary life by the appellation of Keziah Briggs; but to-day she was unusually homicidal. And then those red books, with the odour of fat meat, stale fish and rancid butter, that always steams up from them, he looked over them in despair. Janet, of course, would not eat much, but even an extra mutton chop, and French roll, and pat of butter would tell on the daily expenses; and besides, she was used to every comfort at home. The
