Perhaps the housekeeper thought that in such a guise young Tony would look more like the angel at Islington than anything else of that name, or perhaps she was disconcerted to find her previously-conceived ideas disturbed, as angels are not commonly represented in top-boots and sprig waistcoats. She coughed doubtfully, but said nothing.
‘How many brothers and sisters have you, my dear?’ she asked, after a short silence.
‘One brother and no sister at all,’ replied Tony. ‘Sam his name is, and so’s my father’s. Do you know my father?’
‘O yes, I know him,’ said the housekeeper, graciously.
‘Is my father fond of you?’ pursued Tony.
‘I hope so,’ rejoined the smiling housekeeper.
Tony considered a moment, and then said, ‘Is my grandfather fond of you?’
This would seem a very easy question to answer, but instead of replying to it, the housekeeper smiled in great confusion, and said that really children did ask such extraordinary questions that it was the most difficult thing in the world to talk to them. Mr. Weller took upon himself to reply that he was very fond of the lady; but the housekeeper entreating that he would not put such things into the child’s head, Mr. Weller shook his own while she looked another way, and seemed to be troubled with a misgiving that captivation was in progress. It was, perhaps, on this account that he changed the subject precipitately.
‘It’s wery wrong in little boys to make game o’ their grandfathers, an’t it, mum?’ said Mr. Weller, shaking his head waggishly, until Tony looked at him, when he counterfeited the deepest dejection and sorrow.
‘O, very sad!’ assented the housekeeper. ‘But I hope no little boys do that?’