The small servant, who was not so well acquainted with theatrical customs as Mr. Swiveller (having indeed never seen a play or heard one spoken of, except by some chance through chinks of doors and in other forbidden places), was rather alarmed by demonstrations so strange in their nature, and showed her concern so plainly in her looks that Mr. Swiveller felt it necessary to change his brigand manner for one more suitable to private life, as he asked:
"Do they often go where glory waits 'em, and leave you here?"
"Oh, yes; I believe they do," returned the small servant. "Miss Sally's such a one-er for that, she is."
"Such a what?" said Dick.
"Such a one-er," returned the Marchioness.
After a moment's reflection, Mr. Swiveller determined to forego his responsible duty of setting her right and to suffer her to talk on, as it was evident that her tongue was loosened by the purl and her opportunities for conversation were not so frequent as to render a momentary check of little consequence.
"They sometimes go to see Mr. Quilp," said the small servant with a shrewd look; "they go to a good many places, bless you."
"Is Mr. Brass a wunner?" said Dick.
"Not half what Miss Sally is, he isn't," replied the small servant, shaking her head. "Bless you, he'd never do anything without her."
"Oh! He wouldn't, wouldn't he?" said Dick.