JUST before Christmas of 1887, a lady past her twenties and with a look of discouraged weariness on her thin face, knocked at a housedoor in a little street by Lavender Hill. A card in the window gave notice that a bed-room was here to let. When the door opened and a clean, grave, elderly woman presented herself, the visitor, regarding her anxiously, made known that she was in search of a lodging.
'It may be for a few weeks only, or it may be for a longer period,' she said in a low, tired voice, with an accent of good breeding. 'I have a difficulty in finding precisely what I want. One room would be sufficient, and I ask for very little attendance.'
She had but one room to let, replied the other. It might be inspected.
They went upstairs. The room was at the back of the house, small, but neatly furnished. Its appearance seemed to gratify the visitor, for she smiled timidly.
'What rent should you ask?'
'That would depend, mum, on what attendance was required.'
'Yes--of course. I think--will you permit me to sit down? I am really very tired. Thank you.--I require very little attendance indeed. My ways are very simple. I should make the bed myself, and--and, do the other little things that are necessary from day to day. Perhaps I might ask you to sweep the room out--once a week or so.'
The landlady grew meditative. Possibly she had had experience of lodgers who were anxious to give as little trouble as possible. She glanced furtively at the stranger.
'And what,' was her question at length, 'would you be thinking of paying?'
'Perhaps I had better explain my position. For several years I have been companion to a lady in Hampshire. Her death has thrown me on my own resources--I hope only for a short time. I have come to London because a younger sister of mine is employed here in a house of business; she recommended me to seek for lodgings in this part; I might as well be near her whilst I am endeavouring to find another post; perhaps I may be fortunate enough to find one in London.