"No, thank you. But you can remember the promise about the housekeeper when you're a rich man."
Like Sidney's father, she accepted Sidney's coming greatness as a thing of course, concerning which no doubts need be entertained.
He laughed.
"It's a promise, mind. Good night, Mattie."
"Good night."
That night was to be marked by another variation of the day's monotony—by more than one. It was striking seven from St. George's Church, Southwark, when a stately carriage and pair dashed up Great Suffolk Street, and drew up at the stationer's door. A few moments afterwards a tall, white-haired old gentleman entered the shop leaning upon the arm of a good-looking young man, and advanced towards the counter.
The likeness of the elder man was so apparent to that of old Mr. Hinchford up-stairs, that Mattie fancied it was he for an instant, until her rapid observation detected that the gentleman before her was much thinner, wore higher shirt collars, had a voluminous frill to his shirt, and a double gold eye-glass in his hand.
"Thank you, that will do. I won't trouble you any further."
"Shall I wait here?"
"No, my boy—don't let me keep you from your club engagements. If you are behind time take the carriage."