There was no passage into the street but through the shop, and the woman who was there gave a great start as Jacob Gray came in.
“Lor’—sir,” she said, “I didn’t hear you.”
“Not hear me?” said Gray. “I—I have come quickly down the stairs. I am going out on business, and mind what I before said to you in case any one should inquire for me.”
“But I don’t even know your name, sir.”
“My name?”
“No, sir, you didn’t tell me.”
Gray paused a moment, and then he said,—
“My name is Smith,” and walked out of the shop without waiting for an answer.
“Smith, is it?” said the woman, to herself; “it’s about as much Smith as I’m Smith. Well, it’s no business of mine, only I should like to know who he really is; but, howsomever, as long as he pays his way, that’s quite enough for me—not that I like his looks at all, oh, dear, no—I call him an ugly man, I do.—Well—well, ‘handsome is as handsome does’—that’s my motto!”
When Jacob Gray was fairly in the street, he glanced cautiously about him, and seeing no one, he hugged himself in the notion that he had been too cunning for his enemies, and walked on, keeping, however, very close to the houses, so that he walked in their black shadows, and could not be minutely remarked by any chance passenger.