"You could hardly have been here since your boyhood without my knowledge. It very seldom happens that anybody—of any pretensions—any pretensions—comes here without being presented to me."
"As many as forty or fifty in a day have been introduced to my brother," said Frederick, faintly lighting up with a ray of pride.
"Yes!" the Father of the Marshalsea assented. "We have even exceeded that number. On a fine Sunday in term time, it is quite a reception!"
Thus the old man prattled on, proud of his queer distinction, and yet showing traces of the fine gentleman he once was. And while he listened, Arthur felt his heart throb with sympathy for the brave girl, sitting silent across the table, who had so long borne the burdens of this ruined family upon her frail shoulders.
He could not say anything to her, here, but when he rose to take his leave, he asked her by a look to come with him to the gate. He felt he must make some explanation for thus intruding and learning her secret.
"Pray forgive me," he said, when they paused alone at the gate. "I followed you to-night from my mother's. I should not have done so, but, believe me, it was only in the hope of doing you some service. What I have seen here, in this short time, has increased ten-fold my heartfelt wish to be a friend to you."
She seemed to take courage while he spoke to her.
"You are very good, sir. You speak very earnestly to me. But I—but I wish you had not watched me."
He understood the emotion with which she said it to arise in her father's behalf; and he respected it, and was silent.
"Mrs. Clennam has been of great service to me. I don't know what we should have done without the employment she has given me. I am afraid it may not be a good return to become secret with her. I can say no more to-night, sir. I am sure you mean to be kind to us. Thank you, thank you."