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He nodded his head, and then, after standing silent a little, as if absorbed in thought, "Forty-two shillings ​a week? Yes, that will suit me perfectly. And I’ll begin now by paying my first month’s rent in advance. Now, four times forty-two shillings is"—he jerked his head back and stared at his new landlady; for the first time he smiled, a queer, wry smile—"why, just eight pounds eight shillings, Mrs. Bunting!"

He thrust his hand through into an inner pocket of his long cape-like coat and took out a handful of sovereigns. Then he began putting these down in a row on the bare wooden table which stood in the centre of the room. "Here’s five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten pounds. You’d better keep the odd change, Mrs. Bunting, for I shall want you to do some shopping for me to-morrow morning. I met with a misfortune to-day." But the new lodger did not speak as if his misfortune, whatever it was, weighed on his spirits.

"Indeed, sir. I’m sorry to hear that." Mrs. Bunting’s heart was going thump—thump—thump. She felt extraordinarily moved, dizzy with relief and joy.