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 mouse-hole, glad to get out of the room, curtsied and ran to do her bidding. The other one said apprehensively, 'Lady, your bell rings on the first floor and we are up here. I hope your lad'ship doesn't think us unmindful...,' deed, your lad'ship...'

There was a faint and familiar smell about the room. Lanice felt slightly dizzy and sat upon the edge of the broad bed. 'Is there time for me to get to Southampton by noon?'

'Indeed, yes. One gentleman has left for there already—a big ship sailed early.' it would not be the Lux Benigna. She would not go out for three more days.

With a senseless childish cunning Lanice asked—'Is his name—ah, Pontifex—quite a large family—called Pontifex? Red face and white whiskers?'

'Indeed, they must have lodged at the George. There are always a certain number for the George. They who don't know Winchester. It's bigger than we are—but 'deed, it's common and the maids are all huzzies—A friend of mine, m'lady...'

'Or was it...let me see...a Mr. Jones?' The maid surprisingly came into life. Her thick bright cheeks eddied into unguessed dimples.

'Oh, Mr. Jones—that man—yes, m'lady. He's been here for five days—and he's always talking to me and Lucy about the mouse-holes under his bed...And we always must see to it that his bed is warmed for him—he hates our damp English beds—he says heathen countries have spoiled him for damp.'

'And his ship—when does his ship sail?'