“That depends.  ’Ave you walked much?”

“A good deal.  Why?”

“That’s in yer favour.  But I ‘ope nothin’ will ’appen, for my sake.  I can’t do with any more scandals here.  I’ve my Oscar to think of.”

“Scandals?” queried Mavis.

“What about gettin’ your box upstairs?” asked Mrs Gowler, as if wishful to change the subject,

“Isn’t there anyone who can carry it up?”

“Not to-night.  Yer can’t expect my Oscar to soil ’is ’ands with menial work.  I’m bringing him up to be the gent he is.”

“Then I’ll go down and fetch what I want for the night.”

“Let me git ’em for yer,” volunteered Mrs Gowler, as her eyes twinkled greedily.

“I won’t trouble you.”

Mavis went down to the passage, taking with her the evil-smelling lamp:  the spilled oil upon the outside of this greased Mavis’s fingers.

To save her strength, she cut the cords with which her trunk was bound with a kitchen knife, borrowed from Mrs Gowler for this purpose.  She took from this box such articles as she might need for the night.  Amongst other things, she obtained the American clock which had belonged to her old friend Miss Nippett.  Mr Poulter, to whom the accompanist had left her few possessions, had prevailed on Mavis to accept this as a memento of her old friend.

Mavis toiled up the stairs with an armful of belongings, preceded by Mrs Gowler carrying the lamp, the woman impressed at the cut and material of which her last arrival’s garments were made.

When Mavis had wound up the clock and placed it on the mantelpiece, and, with a few deft touches, had made the room a trifle less repellent, she saw her landlady come into the room with three bottles and two glasses (one of these latter had recently held stout) tucked under her arms.

“I thought we’d ’ave a friendly little chat, my dear,” remarked Mrs Gowler, as if to explain her hospitality.

Just then, Mavis’s heart ached for the sympathy and support of some motherly person in whom she could confide.  A tender word, a hint of appreciation of her present extremity, would have done much to give her stay for the approaching dread ordeal.  Perhaps this was why, for the time being, she stifled her dislike of Mrs Gowler and submitted to the woman’s presence.  Mrs Gowler unscrewed a bottle of stout, poured herself out a glass, drank it at one draught, and then half filled a glass for Mavis.

“Drink it, my dear.  It will do us both good,” cried Mrs Gowler, who already showed signs of having drunk more than she could conveniently carry.

Mavis, not to seem ungracious, sipped the stout as she sat on the bed.

“’Ow is it you ain’t in a proper nursing ’ome?” asked Mrs Gowler, after she had opened the second bottle.

“Aren’t I?” asked Mavis quickly.

“I’ve ’eard of better,” answered Mrs Gowler guardedly.  “Though, after all, I may be a better friend to you than all o’ them together, with their doctors an’ all.”