He insisted on including me in his compliments, not knowing how little I deserved them.
“My walk this evening,” said he, “is really the first serious voyage of discovery I have made in my parish, and the result is not very encouraging. It seems a very low neighbourhood, worse a good deal than I expected. However, there will be all the more to do.”
There was something so modest and yet so resolute in the way he spoke that we both liked him.
His house, a dull-looking City rectory, was at the end of the street, and here we halted.
“We’re rather in a state of confusion here,” said he, as he rang the bell, “we only moved in this week. So you must take us as you find us.”
We entered, and were ushered into a pleasant parlour, which appeared to be the only completely furnished room at present.
“Is Mr Edward at home?” asked our host of the servant.
“Yes, sir, he’s upstairs.”
“Ask him to come down,” said he, “and bring in supper.”
He explained to us that Edward was his son, whom he would like us to know.