m upstairs, extorting all the details she desired to gather.
Then there was a pause. Madame glanced round the room.

"Nice house!" she said. "Is it their own?"

"So I _believe_--"

Again Madame nodded sagely. "Debts perhaps--eh? Mortgage--" and she
looked slyly sardonic.

"Really!" said Mr. May, bouncing to his feet. "Do you mind if I go
to speak to Mrs. Rollings--"

"Oh no--go along," said Madame, and Mr. May skipped out in a temper.

Madame was left alone in her comfortable chair, studying details of
the room and making accounts in her own mind, until the actual
funeral guests began to arrive. And then she had the satisfaction of
sizing them up. Several arrived with wreaths. The coffin had been
carried down and laid in the small sitting-room--Mrs. Houghton's
sitting-room. It was covered with white wreaths and streamers of
purple ribbon. There was a crush and a confusion.

And then at last the hearse and the cabs had arrived--the coffin was
carried out--Alvina followed, on the arm of her father's cousin,
whom she disliked. Miss Pinnegar marshalled the other mourners. It
was a wretched business.

But it was a great funeral. There were nine cabs, besides the
hearse--Woodhouse had revived its ancient respect for the house of
Houghton. A posse of minor tradesmen followed the cabs--all in black
and with black gloves. The richer tradesmen sat in the cabs.

Poor Alvina, this was the only day in all her life when she was the
centre of public attention. For once, every eye was upon her, every
mind was thinking about her. Poor Alvina! said every member of the
Woodhouse "middle class": Poor Alvina Houghton, said every collier's
wife. Poor thing, left alone--and hardly a penny to bless herself
with. Lucky if she's not left with a pile of debts. James Houghton
ran through some money in his day. Ay, if she had her rights she'd
be a rich woman. Why, her mother brought three or four thousands
with her. Ay, but James sank it all in Throttle-Ha'penny and
Klondyke and the Endeavour. Well, he was his own worst enemy. He
paid his way. I'm not so sure about that. Look how he served his
wife, and now Alvina. I'm not so sure he was his own worst enemy. He
was bad enough enemy to his own flesh and blood. Ah well, he'll
spend no more money, anyhow. No, he went sudden, didn't he? But he
was getting very frail, if you noticed. Oh yes, why he fair seemed
to totter down to Lumley. Do you reckon as that place pays its way?
What, the