She was thinking over all these things a week before Christmas.  It was Sunday afternoon, and, for a wonder, she was sitting alone in her room.  Mr. Bunce was at home, or she would have had little Nelly to keep her company.  Still, she said to herself that she was not sorry to have a minute or two to put certain things straight in her mind.  What a mind it was, Totty Nancarrow’s!

The landlady looked in at the door.

‘Here’s a gemman wants to see you, Miss Nancarrow.’

‘Oh?  What sort of a gentleman?’

’Why, oldish—­five-an’-forty, I dessay.  Greyish beard and a big nose.  Speaks very loud and important like.’

Not her uncle; he had no beard and a very small nose, and could not thus have altered since she last saw him.

‘All right.  I’ll go and ask him what he wants.’

Totty gave a glance at her six square inches of looking-glass, made a movement with her hand which was like a box on each ear, then went downstairs in her usual way, swinging by the banisters down three steps at a time.  At the door she found a person answering very fairly to the landlady’s graphic description.  The experienced eye would have perceived that he was not, in the restricted sense of the word, a gentleman; still, he wore good clothing, and had of a truth an important air.

‘You want me, sir?’ Totty asked, coming to a sudden stand in front of him, and examining him with steady eye.

He returned the gaze with equal steadiness.  Both hands rested on the top of his umbrella, and his attitude was very much that of a man who views a horse he has thoughts of purchasing.

‘You are Miss Nancarrow, I think?’ he said, clearing his throat.  ‘Christian name, Totty.’

‘That’s me, I believe.’

’Jusso!  I should like to have a word with you, Miss Nancarrow, if you will allow me.’

‘You can’t say it here, sir?’

‘Why, no, I can’t.  If you could——­’

Totty did not wait for him to finish, but ran away to get permission to use the landlady’s parlour.  To this she introduced her visitor, who seated himself without invitation, and, after gazing about the room, said: 

’Pray sit down, Miss Nancarrow.  I’ve come to see you on a matter of some importance.  I am Mr. Barlow, an old friend of your uncle’s.  You have possibly heard of me?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ Totty replied.

As she spoke, it struck her that there was a broad black band round Mr. Barlow’s shiny hat.

‘Ah, you haven’t; jusso!’

Mr. Barlow again cleared his throat, looking about the floor as if he were in the habit of living near a spittoon.  And then he paused a little, elevating and sinking his bushy eye. brows.  Totty, who had taken the edge of a chair, moved her feet impatiently.

‘Well, Miss Totty Nancarrow,’ resumed her visitor, using his umbrella to prop his chin, and rolling out his words with evident enjoyment of his task, ’I have the unpleasant duty of informing you that your late uncle is dead.’