Not visited by the surviving members of her family, living, literally, by herself in the world, Hester decided, in spite of her comfortable little income, on letting lodgings.  The explanation of this strange conduct which she had written on her slate, in reply to an inquiry from Anne, was the true one.  “I have not got a friend in the world:  I dare not live alone.”  In that desolate situation, and with that melancholy motive, she put the house into an agent’s hands.  The first person in want of lodgings whom the agent sent to see the place was Perry the trainer; and Hester’s first tenant was Geoffrey Delamayn.

The rooms which the landlady reserved for herself were the kitchen, the room next to it, which had once been her brother’s “study,” and the two small back bedrooms up stairs—­one for herself, the other for the servant-girl whom she employed to help her.  The whole of the rest of the cottage was to let.  It was more than the trainer wanted; but Hester Dethridge refused to dispose of her lodgings—­either as to the rooms occupied, or as to the period for which they were to be taken—­on other than her own terms.  Perry had no alternative but to lose the advantage of the garden as a private training-ground, or to submit.

Being only two in number, the lodgers had three bedrooms to choose from.  Geoffrey established himself in the back-room, over the drawing-room.  Perry chose the front-room, placed on the other side of the cottage, next to the two smaller apartments occupied by Hester and her maid.  Under this arrangement, the front bedroom, on the opposite side of the passage—­next to the room in which Geoffrey slept—­was left empty, and was called, for the time being, the spare room.  As for the lower floor, the athlete and his trainer ate their meals in the dining-room; and left the drawing-room, as a needless luxury, to take care of itself.

The Foot-Race once over, Perry’s business at the cottage was at an end.  His empty bedroom became a second spare room.  The term for which the lodgings had been taken was then still unexpired.  On the day after the race Geoffrey had to choose between sacrificing the money, or remaining in the lodgings by himself, with two spare bedrooms on his hands, and with a drawing-room for the reception of his visitors—­who called with pipes in their mouths, and whose idea of hospitality was a pot of beer in the garden.

To use his own phrase, he was “out of sorts.”  A sluggish reluctance to face change of any kind possessed him.  He decided on staying at Salt Patch until his marriage to Mrs. Glenarm (which he then looked upon as a certainty) obliged him to alter his habits completely, once for all.  From Fulham he had gone, the next day, to attend the inquiry in Portland Place.  And to Fulham he returned, when he brought the wife who had been forced upon him to her “home.”

Such was the position of the tenant, and such were the arrangements of the interior of the cottage, on the memorable evening when Anne Silvester entered it as Geoffrey’s wife.