“Metempsychosis?” said Geoffrey.
“Hah! yes! The niggers out in Poonah are right as right about that.”
“Very likely,” said Geoffrey. “Now, what do you suppose you’ll be next?”
“Don’t know,” said the old man, sharply; “but I’ve no doubt you’ll be a dog.”
“May I ask why?”
“Because you’re an impertinent puppy now!”
“Just as you like,” said Geoffrey, smiling. “But you look cross.”
“No, sir; things are not just as I like,” said the old man, seating himself upon Geoffrey’s table, but only to get off, go quickly to the door, open it softly, and then dash out—to come back disappointed, for there was no one listening. “Look here, Trethick, I want to ask you a plain question.”
“Go on, then.”
“That niece of mine goes out a great deal now—has gone out a great deal since you’ve been here. Is it to meet you?”