“No, Jenny, here I stay.  You’ll not induce me to venture over into those rooms, whose dirt I know of old.  Can’t you persuade some one who is not an old friend to move across?  Say, if you like, that I had written beforehand to bespeak the rooms.  Oh, I know you can manage it—­I know your good-natured ways.”

“Indeed, sir!  Well, I’ll see, if you and the lady will just step into the back-parlour, sir—­there’s no one there just now; the lady is keeping her bed to-day for a cold, and the gentleman is having a rubber at whist in number three.  I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you—­thank you!  Is there a fire? if not, one must be lighted.  Come, Ruthie, come!”

He led the way into a large bow-windowed room, which looked gloomy enough that afternoon, but which I have seen bright and buoyant with youth and hope within, and sunny lights creeping down the purple mountain slope, and stealing over the green, soft meadows, till they reached the little garden, full of roses and lavender-bushes, lying close under the window.  I have seen—­but I shall see no more.

“I did not know you had been here before,” said Ruth, as Mr. Bellingham helped her off with her cloak.

“Oh, yes; three years ago I was here on a reading party.  We were here above two months, attracted by Jenny’s kind heart and oddities, but driven away finally by the insufferable dirt.  However, for a week or two it won’t much signify.”

“But can she take us in?  I thought I heard her saying her house was full.”

“Oh, yes, I dare say it is; but I shall pay her well.  She can easily make excuses to some poor devil, and send him over to the other side; and for a day or two, so that we have shelter, it does not much signify.”

“Could not we go to the house on the other side?”

“And have our meals carried across to us in a half-warm state, to say nothing of having no one to scold for bad cooking!  You don’t know these out-of-the-way Welsh inns yet, Ruthie.”

“No, I only thought it seemed rather unfair,” said Ruth gently; but she did not end her sentence, for Mr. Bellingham formed his lips into a whistle, and walked to the window to survey the rain.

The remembrance of his former good payment prompted many little lies of which Mrs. Morgan was guilty that afternoon, before she succeeded in turning out a gentleman and lady, who were only planning to remain till the ensuing Saturday at the outside; so, if they did fulfil their threat, and leave on the next day, she would be no very great loser.

These household arrangements complete, she solaced herself with tea in her own little parlour, and shrewdly reviewed the circumstances of Mr. Bellingham’s arrival.

“Indeed! and she’s not his wife,” thought Jenny, “that’s clear as day.  His wife would have brought her maid, and given herself twice as many airs about the sitting-rooms; while this poor miss never spoke, but kept as still as a mouse.  Indeed, and young men will be young men; and as long as their fathers and mothers shut their eyes, it’s none of my business to go about asking questions.”