Minikin removed his left eye and commenced to polish it upon his handkerchief, a habit he had when in doubt. From looking into it he appeared to derive inspiration.
“Take-her-own-part sort of a girl?”
I intimated that he had diagnosed Miss Rosina Sellars correctly.
“Know how much you're earning?”
“She knows I live up here in this attic and do my own cooking,” I answered.
Minikin glanced round the room. “Must be fond of you.”
“She thinks I'm clever,” I explained, “and that I shall make my way.
“And she's willing to wait?”
I nodded.
“Well, I should let her wait,” replied Minikin, replacing his eye. “There's plenty of time before you.”