man tells me
your winder is a landmark to 'im on the foggiest nights."

Lancelot flushed, then wrinkled his brows. This was a new idea
altogether. Mrs. Leadbatter stood waiting for his reply, with a
deferential smile tempered by asthmatic contortions.

"But have you got a piano of your own?"

"Oh no, sir," cried Mrs. Leadbatter almost reproachfully.

"Well; but how is your Rosie to practise? One lesson a week is of very
little use anyway, but unless she practises a good deal it'll only be a
waste of time."

"Ah, you don't know my Rosie," said Mrs. Leadbatter, shaking her head
with sceptical pride. "You mustn't judge by other gels--the way that
gel picks up things is--well, I'll just tell you what 'er
school-teacher, Miss Whiteman, said. She says----"

"My good lady," interrupted Lancelot, "I practised six hours a day
myself."

"Yes, but it don't come so natural to a man," said Mrs. Leadbatter,
unshaken. "And it don't look natural neither to see a man playin' the
pianner--it's like seein' him knittin'."

But Lancelot was knitting his brows in a way that was exceedingly
natural. "I may as well tell you at once that what you propose is
impossible. First of all, because I am doubtful whether I shall remain
in these rooms; and secondly, because I am giving up the piano
immediately. I only have it on hire, and I--I----" He felt himself
blushing.

"Oh, what a pity!" interrupted Mrs. Leadbatter. "You might as well let
me go on payin' the hinstalments, instead of lettin' all you've paid go
for nothing. Rosie ain't got much time, but I could allow 'er a 'our a
day if it was my own pianner."

Lancelot explained "hire" did not mean the "hire system." But the idea
of acquiring the piano having once fired Mrs. Leadbatter's brain, could
not be extinguished. The unexpected conclusion arrived at was that she
was to purchase the piano on the hire system, allowing it to stand in
Lancelot's room, and that five shillings a week should be taken off his
rent in return for six lessons of an hour each, one of the hours
counterbalancing the gas grievance. Reviewing the bargain, when Mrs.
Leadbatter was gone, Lancelot did not think it at all bad for him.
"Use of the piano. Gas," he murmured, with a pathetic smile, recalling
the advertisements he had read before lighting on Mrs. Leadbatter's.
"And five shillings a week--it's a considerable relief! There's no
loss of dignity either--for nobody will know. But I wonder