“Always alone; except that I have daily company in a gentleman by the name of Bazzard, my clerk.”
“He doesn’t live here?”
“No, he goes his way, after office hours. In fact, he is off duty here, altogether, just at present; and a firm down-stairs, with which I have business relations, lend me a substitute. But it would be extremely difficult to replace Mr. Bazzard.”
“He must be very fond of you,” said Rosa.
“He bears up against it with commendable fortitude if he is,” returned Mr. Grewgious, after considering the matter. “But I doubt if he is. Not particularly so. You see, he is discontented, poor fellow.”
“Why isn’t he contented?” was the natural inquiry.
“Misplaced,” said Mr. Grewgious, with great mystery.
Rosa’s eyebrows resumed their inquisitive and perplexed expression.
“So misplaced,” Mr. Grewgious went on, “that I feel constantly apologetic towards him. And he feels (though he doesn’t mention it) that I have reason to be.”
Mr. Grewgious had by this time grown so very mysterious, that Rosa did not know how to go on. While she was thinking about it Mr. Grewgious suddenly jerked out of himself for the second time: