"Mrs. Chalk's for the bacon?" echoed the gentleman. "Very good! Excellent woman! excellent bacon, I dare say. But how far away is it?—how soon shall we have your aunt back again?"
"Just round the corner, please, sir; aunt's never no time," answered the child. "Would you please call in again?"
"Charming young lady! So accomplished! Who taught you your grammar? So polite—so suspicious. Do you know the meaning of that word, my dear?"
"No, sir, please."
"And I'm vastly obliged for your invitation to call again; but I find your company much too agreeable to think of going away; so, if you allow me—and do shut that door, my sweet child; many thanks—I'll do myself the honour to sit down, if I may venture, and continue to enjoy your agreeable conversation, till your aunt returns to favour us with her charming presence—and bacon."
The old gentleman was glancing from under his brows, from corner to corner of this homely chamber; an uneasy habit, not curiosity; and, during his ceremonious speech, he kept bowing and smiling, and set down a black leather bag that he had in his hand, on the deal table, together with his walking-cane, and pulled off his gloves, and warmed his hands at the tiny bit of fire. When his back was toward them the children exchanged a glance, and the little boy looked frightened, and on the point of bursting into tears.
"Hish!" whispered the girl, alarmed, for she could not tell what effect the demonstration might have upon the stranger—"quiet!"—and she shook her finger in urgent warning at Jemmie. "A very nice gent, as has money for aunty—there!"
So the tears that stood in Jemmie's big eyes were not followed by an outcry, and the gentleman, with his hat and outside wrapper on, stood, now, with his back to the little fire, looking, in his restless way, over the children's heads, with his white, cold eyes, and the same smile. There was a dreamy idea haunting Lucy Maria's head that this gentleman was very like a white animal she had seen at the Surrey Zoological Gardens when her uncle had treated her to that instructive show; the same sort of cruel grin, and the same restless oscillation before the bars of its cage.
"Hey! so she'll be back again?" said he, recollecting the presence of the two children; "the excellent lady, your aunt, I mean. Superb apartment this is, but it strikes me, hardly sufficiently lighted, hey? One halfpenny candle, however brilliant, can hardly do justice to such a room; pretty taper—very pretty—isn't it? Such nice mutton fat, my dear young lady, and such a fine long snuff—like a chimney, with a Quaker's hat on the top of it—you don't see such fine things everywhere! And who's this young gentleman, who enjoys the distinction of being admitted to your salon; a page, or what?"
"It's Jemmie, sir; stand up, and bow to the gentleman, Jemmie."