"St.—St. who?" said Johanna, looking around her with a bewildered, confused sort of air. "St. who?"
"St. Dunstan's, in Fleet Street."
"Fleet Street? If you will direct me, sir, I dare say I shall find it—oh, yes. I am good at finding places."
"He is strange in London," muttered Todd. "I am satisfied of that. He is strange. Come in—come in, and shut the door after you."
With a heart beating with violence, that was positively fearful, Johanna followed Todd into the shop, carefully closing the door behind her, as she had been ordered to do.
"Now," said Todd, "nothing in the world but my consideration for your orphan and desolate condition, could possibly induce me to think of taking you in; but the fact is, being an orphan myself—(here Todd made a hideous grimace)—I say, being an orphan myself, with little to distress me amid the oceans and quicksands of this wicked world, some very strong sense of religion—(another hideous grimace)—I naturally feel for you."
"Thank you, sir."
"Are you decidedly pious?"
"I hope so, sir."
"Humph! Well, we will say more upon that all-important subject another time, and if I consent to be your master, a—a—a—"