Perhaps for three generations her ancestors could claim so
much gentility; it was more than enough to put a vast gulf between
her and the Mutimers. Favourable circumstances of upbringing had
endowed her with delicacy of heart and mind not inferior to that of
any woman living; mated with an equal husband, the children born of
her might hope to take their place among the most beautiful and the
most intelligent. And her husband was a man incapable of
understanding her idlest thought.
He opened his eyes, looked at her blankly for a moment, stirred his
limbs to make his position easier.
Pouring rain in London streets. The cab drove eastward, but for no
great distance. Adela found herself alighting at a lodging-house not
far from the reservoir at the top of Pentonville Hill. Mutimer had
taken these rooms a week ago.
A servant fresh from the blackleading of a grate opened the door to
them, grinning with recognition at the sight of Mutimer. The latter
had to help the cabman to deposit the trunks in the passage. Then
Adela was shown to her bedroom.
It was on the second floor, the ordinary bedroom of cheap furnished
lodgings, with scant space between the foot of the bed and the
fireplace, with a dirty wall-paper and a strong musty odour. The
window looked upon a backyard.
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