Startled and puzzled, the girl left the room.  Miss Rodney waited, but no one came.  When ten minutes had elapsed she rang the bell.  A few minutes more and there sounded a heavy foot in the passage; then a heavy knock at the door, and Mr. Turpin presented himself.  He was a short, sturdy man, with hair and beard of the hue known as ginger, and a face which told in his favour.  Vicious he could assuredly not be, with those honest grey eyes; but one easily imagined him weak in character, and his attitude as he stood just within the room, half respectful, half assertive, betrayed an embarrassment altogether encouraging to Miss Rodney.  In her pleasantest tone she begged him to be seated.

‘Thank you, miss,’ he replied, in a deep voice, which sounded huskily, but had nothing of surliness; ’I suppose you want to complain about something, and I’d rather get it over standing.’

‘I was not going to make any complaint, Mr. Turpin.’

’I’m glad to hear it, miss; for my wife wished me to say she’d done about all she could, and if things weren’t to your liking, she thought it would be best for all if you suited yourself in somebody else’s lodgings.’

It evidently cost the man no little effort to deliver his message; there was a nervous twitching about his person, and he could not look Miss Rodney straight in the face.  She, observant of this, kept a very steady eye on him, and spoke with all possible calmness.

’I have not the least desire to change my lodgings, Mr. Turpin.  Things are going on quite well.  There is an improvement in the cooking, in the cleaning, in everything; and, with a little patience, I am sure we shall all come to understand one another.  What I wanted to speak to you about was a little practical matter in which you may be able to help me.  I teach mathematics at the High School, and I have an idea that I might make certain points in geometry easier to my younger girls if I could demonstrate them in a mechanical way.  Pray look here.  You see the shapes I have sketched on this piece of paper; do you think you could make them for me in wood?’

The carpenter was moved to a show of reluctant interest.  He took the paper, balanced himself now on one leg, now on the other, and said at length that he thought he saw what was wanted.  Miss Rodney, coming to his side, explained in more detail; his interest grew more active.

‘That’s Euclid, miss?’

‘To be sure.  Do you remember your Euclid?’

‘My own schooling never went as far as that,’ he replied, in a muttering voice; ’but my Harry used to do Euclid at the Grammar School, and I got into a sort of way of doing it with him.’

Miss Rodney kept a moment’s silence; then quietly and kindly she asked one or two questions about the boy who had died.  The father answered in an awkward, confused way, as if speaking only by constraint.

‘Well, I’ll see what I can do, miss,’ he added abruptly, folding the paper to take away.  ‘You’d like them soon?’