This was the more needful as Mr.Rowley and I, in our smart clothes and with our cumbrous burthen, made a noticeable appearance in the streets at that time of the day and in that quarter of the town, which was largely given up to fine folk, bucks and dandies and young ladies, or respectable professional men on their way home to dinner.
On the north side of St.James' Square I was so happy as to spy a bill in a third-floor window.

I was equally indifferent to cost and convenience in my choice of a lodging--'any port in a storm' was the principle on which I was prepared to act; and Rowley and I made at once for the common entrance and sealed the stair.
We were admitted by a very sour-looking female in bombazine.

I gathered she had all her life been depressed by a series of bereavements, the last of which might very well have befallen her the day before; and I instinctively lowered my voice when I addressed her.

She admitted she had rooms to let--even showed them to us--a sitting-room and bedroom in a _suite_, commanding a fine prospect to the Firth and Fifeshire, and in themselves well proportioned and comfortably furnished, with pictures on the wall, shells on the mantelpiece, and several books upon the table which I found afterwards to be all of a devotional character, and all presentation copies, 'to my Christian friend,' or 'to my devout acquaintance in the Lord, Bethiah McRankine.' Beyond this my 'Christian friend' could not be made to advance: no, not even to do that which seemed the most natural and pleasing thing in the world--I mean to name her price--but stood before us shaking her head, and at times mourning like the dove, the picture of depression and defence.

She had a voice the most querulous I have ever heard, and with this she produced a whole regiment of difficulties and criticisms.
She could not promise an attendance.
'Well, madam,' said I, 'and what is my servant for ?' 'Him ?' she asked.