Passing of the Third Floor Back. Jerome Klapka Jerome

I say three pound ten?” demanded Mrs. Pennycherry of the stranger, her hand upon the door. She spoke crossly. She was feeling cross, with the stranger, with herself – particularly with herself.

      “You were kind enough to reduce it to that amount,” replied the stranger; “but if upon reflection you find yourself unable – ”

      “I was making a mistake,” said Mrs. Pennycherry, “it should have been two pound ten.”

      “I cannot – I will not accept such sacrifice,” exclaimed the stranger; “the three pound ten I can well afford.”

      “Two pound ten are my terms,” snapped Mrs. Pennycherry. “If you are bent on paying more, you can go elsewhere. You’ll find plenty to oblige you.”

      Her vehemence must have impressed the stranger. “We will not contend further,” he smiled. “I was merely afraid that in the goodness of your heart – ”

      “Oh, it isn’t as good as all that,” growled Mrs. Pennycherry.

      “I am not so sure,” returned the stranger. “I am somewhat suspicious of you. But wilful woman must, I suppose, have her way.”

      The stranger held out his hand, and to Mrs. Pennycherry, at that moment, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take it as if it had been the hand of an old friend and to end the interview with a pleasant laugh – though laughing was an exercise not often indulged in by Mrs. Pennycherry.

      Mary Jane was standing by the window, her hands folded in front of her, when Mrs. Pennycherry re-entered the kitchen. By standing close to the window one caught a glimpse of the trees in Bloomsbury Square and through their bare branches of the sky beyond.

      “There’s nothing much to do for the next half hour, till Cook comes back. I’ll see to the door if you’d like a run out?” suggested Mrs. Pennycherry.

      “It would be nice,” agreed the girl so soon as she had recovered power of speech; “it’s just the time of day I like.”

      “Don’t be longer than the half hour,” added Mrs. Pennycherry.

      Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, assembled after dinner in the drawing-room, discussed the stranger with that freedom and frankness characteristic of Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, towards the absent.