"In a humble way, sir," she answered, with a courtesy.
"Yes, of course; I'm a humble fellow, and—I hear you're a sensible young lady. These little pitchers here, of course, have ears: I'll say all that's necessary as we go up: there's a fellow with a cab at the door, isn't there? Well, there's some little luggage of mine on it—we must get it up stairs; give the Hamal something to lend a hand; but first let me see my rooms."
"Yes, sir," said Sally, with another courtesy, not knowing what a Hamal meant. And Mr. Dingwell, taking up his bag and stick, followed her in silence, as with the dusky candle she led the way up the stairs.
She lighted a pair of candles in the drawing-room. There was some fire in the grate. The rooms looked better than he had expected; there were curtains, and an old Turkish carpet, and some shabby, and some handsome, pieces of furniture.
"It will do, it will do—ha, ha, ha! How like a pawnbroker's store it looks—no two things match in it; but it is not bad: those Jew fellows, of course, did it? All this stuff isn't yours?" said Mr. Dingwell.
"Law bless you, no, sir," answered Sally, with a dismal smile and a shake of her head.
"Thanks again for your blessing. And the bed-room?" inquired he.
She pushed open the door.
"Capital looking-glass," said he, standing before his dressing-table—"cap-i-tal! if it weren't for that great seam across the middle—ha, ha, ha! funny effect, by Jove! Is it colder than usual, here?"
"No, sir, please; a nice evening."