"My confidence!—alas, the business I come on can only be interesting to the parties concerned. I came from London for one sole object; and if I fail, if any delay occurs, the consequences may be—oh, I dread to think of them!"
"You don't say so? Lord! what a thing it is to travel!"
"It was of the utmost consequence that my journey here should be unknown. I had no one to trust. Alas, alas! I have no friend in all the world in whom I could confide!"
"Hem, hem!" said the little man, moved by the earnest sadness of her tone and looks, "you have one friend, ma'am; you may trust me with any thing in the world; yes, me, Nicholas Clam, No. 4, Waterloo Place, Wellington Road, Regent's Park, London. I tell you my name, that you may know I am somebody. I retired from business some years ago, because uncle John died one day, and left me his heir; got into a snug cottage, green verandah, trellice porch, green door, with bell handle in the wall; next door to Mrs Moss—clever woman, but large—very large. And now that you know who I am, you will perhaps tell me"—
"I have little to tell, sir; I came here to see an officer who was to have landed this morning from foreign service; if I don't see him instantly there will be death—ah!"—
"Soldiers—death—ah!" thought Mr Clam; "wild fellows them officers—breach of promise—short memories—a lovely critter, but rather silly I'm afraid; I should like to see a soldier coming the sentimental over Mrs M. Well, ma'am?"
The lady perceived something in the expression of Mr Clam's face (which was radiant with the wonderful discovery he thought he had made) which probably displeased her; for she said, in a very abrupt and almost commanding manner—
"Do you know the way, sir, to the infantry barracks?"
"Not I, ma'am; never knew a soldier in my life. (Think of Mrs M. paying a morning visit to the barracks! What a critter this is!")
"Then you can't assist me, sir, as I had hoped, and therefore"—