"You won't get much done to-night, if you don't start soon," said Eliza.
"I do not like to be interrupted in the middle of a sentence. The other way by which you may make a fortune—well, it's not making a fortune. It's that the fortune makes you, if you understand me."
"I don't," said Eliza.
"I mean that the fortune may come of itself by luck. Luck is a very curious thing. We cannot understand it. It's of no use to talk about it, because it is quite impossible to understand it."
"Then don't let's talk about it, especially when you've got something else to do."
"Temper, temper, Eliza! You must guard against that. I was not going to talk about luck. I was going to give you an instance of luck, which happened to come within my own personal experience. It is the case of a man of the name of Chumpleigh, in our office, and would probably interest and amuse you. I do not know if I have ever mentioned Chumpleigh to you."
"Yes, you've told me all about him several times."
I might have mentioned Chumpleigh to Eliza, but I am sure that I have never told her all about him. However, I was not going to sulk, and so I told her the story again. The story would not have been so long if she hadn't interrupted me so frequently.
When I had finished, she said that it was time to go to bed, and I had wasted the evening.
I owned that possibly I had been chatting rather longer than I had intended, but I would still get those accounts done, and sit up to do them.