"
"Good evening, Madame." He took off his hat and gave her a deep bow. "This
is the young gentleman, Mr. Westcott, of whom I spoke to you this morning."
"Well--how are you, Mr. Westcott?" Her words were sharply clipped and had
the resonance of coins as they rang in the air.
"Quite well, thank you," said Peter, and he noticed, in spite of his dismay
at her appearance, that the clasp of her hand was strong and friendly.
"Florence will show you your room, Mr. Westcott. It is a pound a
week including your meals and attendance and the use of the general
sitting-room. If you do not like it you must tell me and we will wish one
another good evening. If you do like it I shall do my best to make you
comfortable."
Peter found afterwards that this was her invariable manner of addressing
a new-comer. It could scarcely be called a warm welcome. She turned and
called, "Florence!" and a maid-servant, diminutive in size but spotless in
appearance, suddenly appeared from nowhere at all, as it seemed to Peter.
He followed this girl up many flights of stairs. On every side of him were
doors and, once and again, gas flared above him. It was all very cold, and
gusts of wind passed up and down, whisking in and out of the oilcloth, and
Peter thought that he had never seen so many closed doors in his life.
At last they came to an end of the stairs and there with a skylight
covering the passage outside was his room.
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