"Not yet, thank you. I have business to transact first, and I shall not be disengaged before nine o'clock. But I have something to say to you, Mrs. Baker, and I will say it at once and get it over, if you will kindly step up into my parlour."
She did so, sighing at each step of the stairs as she ascended.
All the characters mounted as well, and entering the little sitting-room, ranged themselves against the wall facing the door.
Mrs. Baker was a portly woman, aged about forty-five, and plain featured. She had formerly been neat, now she was dowdy. Before she had lost her character she never appeared in that room without removing her apron, but on this occasion she wore it, and it was not clean.
"Widow!" said Joseph, addressing his character, "will you kindly step forward?"
"I would do anything for you," with a roll of the eyes.
"Dear Mrs. Baker," said Leveridge, "I feel that I have done you a grievous wrong."
"Well, sir, I ain't been myself since you put me into your book."
"My purpose is now to undo the past, and to provide you with a character."
Then, turning to the skittish widow of his creation, he said, "Now, then, slip into and occupy her."