Edwin glanced at his face, uncertain whether or no he seriously objected to the appellation. But Edwin might as well have glanced at the face of a clock.
“A pet name, sir,” he explained again.
“Umps,” said Mr. Grewgious, with a nod. But with such an extraordinary compromise between an unqualified assent and a qualified dissent, that his visitor was much disconcerted.
“Did PRosa—” Edwin began by way of recovering himself.
“PRosa?” repeated Mr. Grewgious.
“I was going to say Pussy, and changed my mind;—did she tell you anything about the Landlesses?”
“No,” said Mr. Grewgious. “What is the Landlesses? An estate? A villa? A farm?”
“A brother and sister. The sister is at the Nuns’ House, and has become a great friend of P—”
“PRosa’s,” Mr. Grewgious struck in, with a fixed face.
“She is a strikingly handsome girl, sir, and I thought she might have been described to you, or presented to you perhaps?”