We did; and in a dozen ways the good fellow strove to show me his sorrow for his past doubts, picking me out the best bits of the pie, foaming up my glass with the ale, and when I expressed my fears of not being awake in time for the office, he promised to call me; and though he never owned to it, I have good reason for believing that he sat up writing out corrections in an old dictation lesson, calling me in excellent time, and having the breakfast all ready upon the table.
Chapter Twenty Three.
Mr Hallett at Home.
Punctual to the appointed time, I rang the topmost of four bells on the doorpost of one of the old-fashioned red-brick houses in Great Ormond Street, and a few minutes after it was opened by Mr Hallett, whose face lit up as he offered me his hand.
“That’s right, Antony!” he exclaimed; “now we’ll go upstairs and see the ladies, and then you and I will have a walk till dinner-time.”
I followed him up the well-worn, uncarpeted stairs to the second floor, where he introduced me to his mother, a stern, pale, careworn-looking woman in a widow’s cap, half sitting, half reclining in a large easy-chair.
“How do you do?” she said, wearily, as she gazed at me through her half-closed eyes. “You are Stephen’s friend. I am glad to see you; but you are very young,” she added in an ill-used tone.
“Not a very serious failing, mother dear,” said Mr Hallett cheerfully.