"Oh, certainly—how can you doubt it?—(Hem—what white teeth! Mrs. M. is a martyr to toothache.) How can I be useful, ma'am? Don't you think it's a curious coincidence we travelled together, ma'am, and both of us coming to the same town? It strikes me to be very singular; doesn't it you, ma'am?"
"I shall be glad of it, if"—
"Ah! by-the-bye—another queer thing is your applying to me—a man past the bloom of boyhood, to be sure, in fact a little beyond"—
"The prime of life," added the lady, not regarding the disappointed look with which her interpolation was received; "it is for that reason, sir, I throw myself on your kindness; you have perhaps daughters, sir, or grandchildren, who"—
"Devil a one. Gad, ma'am, I wish you heard Mrs M., a neighbour of mine—why, she's always talking of my wildness and juvenile liveliness, and all that sort of thing; an excellent woman Mrs M., but stout—certainly stout."
"Are you acquainted with this town, sir?" said the lady.
"God bless ye! read an immense account of it in the Penny Magazine ever so long ago; but whether it is famous for a breakwater, or a harbour, or a cliff, or some dock-yard machinery, I can't recollect; perhaps it's all of them together; we shall find out soon; for travelling, as Mrs M. says, enlarges the mind, and expands the intellect."
The lady looked in the face of the disciple of Mrs M. with an anxious expression, as if she repented having addressed him.
"But are you acquainted with the localities here?" she said at last. "As to myself, I am utterly ignorant of the place I have to go to; and if you knew what reason I have to"—
"Ah! that's the very thing; give me your confidence, and I can refuse you nothing."