It did not come quickly.  In two months’ time Mr. Rymer still waited upon the pleasure of the executors.  But he was not inactive.  His brother at Birmingham had suggested ‘an opening’ in that city (thus did Mrs. Rymer phrase it), and the commission-agent had decided to leave London as soon as his affairs were in order.  Towards the end of the third month the family was suffering from hope deferred.  Mr. Rymer had once more a troubled face, and his wife no longer talked to Miss Shepperson in happy strain of her projects for the future.  At length notice arrived that the executors were prepared to settle with Mr. Rymer; yet, in announcing the fact, he manifested only a sober contentment, while Mrs. Rymer was heard to sigh.  Miss Shepperson noted these things, and wondered a little, but Mrs. Rymer’s smiling assurance that now at last all was well revived her cheerful expectations.

With a certain solemnity she was summoned, a day or two later, to a morning colloquy in the drawing-room.  Mr. Rymer sat in an easy-chair, holding a bundle of papers; Mrs. Rymer sat on the sofa, the dozing baby on her lap; over against them their friend took her seat.  With a little cough and a rustle of his papers, the polite man began to speak—­

’Miss Shepperson, the day has come when I am able to discharge my debt to you.  You will not misunderstand that expression—­I speak of my debt in money.  What I owe to you—­what we all owe to you—­in another and a higher sense, can never be repaid.  That moral debt must still go on, and be acknowledged by the unfailing gratitude of a lifetime.’

‘Of a lifetime,’ repeated Mrs. Rymer, sweetly murmuring, and casting towards her friend an eloquent glance.

‘Here, however,’ resumed her husband, ’is the pecuniary account.  Will you do me the kindness, Miss Shepperson, to glance it over and see if you find it correct?’

Miss Shepperson took the paper, which was covered with a very neat array of figures.  It was the same calculation which she herself had so often made, but with interest on the money due to her correctly computed.  The weekly sum of fifteen shillings for board and lodging had been deducted, throughout the whole time, from the rent due to her as landlady.  Mr. Rymer stood her debtor for not quite thirty pounds.

‘It’s quite correct,’ said Miss Shepperson, handing back the paper with a pleased smile.

Mr. Rymer turned to his wife.

‘And what do you say, dear?  Do you think it correct?’

Mrs. Rymer shook her head.

‘No,’ she answered gently, ‘indeed I do not.’

Miss Shepperson was startled.  She looked from one to the other, and saw on their faces only the kindliest expression.

‘I really thought it came to about that,’ fell from her lips.  ’I couldn’t quite reckon the interest—­’

‘Miss Shepperson,’ said Mr. Rymer impressively, ’do you really think that we should allow you to pay us for your board and lodging—­you, our valued friend—­you, who have toiled for us, who have saved us from endless trouble and embarrassment?  That indeed would be a little too shameless.  This account is a mere joke—­as I hope you really thought it.  I insist on giving you a cheque for the total amount of the rent due to you from the day when you first entered this house.’