And at last there came a day when—­for the first time in his life—­Lancelot inspected his wardrobe, and hunted together his odds and ends of jewelry.  From this significant task he was aroused by hearing Mrs. Leadbatter coughing in his sitting-room.

He went in with an interrogative look.

“Oh, my chest!” said Mrs. Leadbatter, patting it.  “It’s no use my denyin’ of it, sir, I’m done up.  It’s as much as I can do to crawl up to the top to bed.  I’m thinkin’ I shall have to make up a bed in the kitchen.  It only shows ’ow right I was to send for my Rosie, though quite the lady, and where will you find a nattier nursemaid in all Bayswater?”

“Nowhere,” assented Lancelot, automatically.

“Oh, I didn’t know you’d noticed her running in to see ’er pore old mother of a Sunday arternoon,” said Mrs. Leadbatter, highly gratified.  “Well, sir, I won’t say anything about the hextry gas, though a poor widder and sevenpence hextry on the thousand, but I’m thinkin’ if you would give my Rosie a lesson once a week on that there pianner, it would be a kind of set-off, for you know, sir, the policeman tells me your winder is a landmark to ’im on the foggiest nights.”

Lancelot flushed, then wrinkled his brows.  This was a new idea altogether.  Mrs. Leadbatter stood waiting for his reply, with a deferential smile tempered by asthmatic contortions.

“But have you got a piano of your own?”

“Oh, no, sir,” cried Mrs. Leadbatter, almost reproachfully.

“Well; but how is your Rosie to practise?  One lesson a week is of very little use anyway, but unless she practises a good deal it’ll only be a waste of time.”

“Ah, you don’t know my Rosie,” said Mrs. Leadbatter, shaking her head with sceptical pride.  “You mustn’t judge by other gels—­the way that gel picks up things is—­well, I’ll just tell you what ’er school-teacher, Miss Whiteman said.  She says—­”

“My good lady,” interrupted Lancelot, “I practised six hours a day myself.”

“Yes, but it don’t come so natural to a man,” said Mrs. Leadbatter, unshaken.  “And it don’t look natural neither to see a man playin’ the pianner—­it’s like seein’ him knittin’.”

But Lancelot was knitting his brows in a way that was exceedingly natural.  “I may as well tell you at once that what you propose is impossible.  First of all, because I am doubtful whether I shall remain in these rooms; and secondly, because I am giving up the piano immediately.  I only have it on hire, and I—­I—­” He felt himself blushing.

“Oh, what a pity!” interrupted Mrs. Leadbatter.  “You might as well let me go on payin’ the hinstalments, instead of lettin’ all you’ve paid go for nothing.  Rosie ain’t got much time, but I could allow ’er a ’our a day if it was my own pianner.”