“Pray come in,” she said; “I am very glad to see you. I wish my father were here.”
He was shown into the little front room, and after some inquiries about his relations Pauline asked him where was his abode in London.
“At the Independent College. I am studying for the ministry.”
Pauline was not quite sure what “the ministry” meant; but as Mr. Thomas had yesterday’s white tie round his neck—he always “dirtied out” the Sunday’s neckerchief on Monday, and wore a black one on the other week-days—she guessed his occupation.
“Dear me! you must be tired with walking so far.”
“Oh no, not tired with walking; but the fact is I am a little Mondayish.”
“A little what?”
Mr. Thomas giggled a little. “Ah, you young ladies, of course, don’t know what that means. I had to conduct a service in the country yesterday, and am rather fatigued. I am generally so on Mondays, and I always relax on that day.” This, it is to be remembered, was his first Monday.
Pauline regretted very much that she had no wine in the house; neither had they any beer. They were not total abstainers, but nothing of the kind was kept in their small store-closet.
“Oh, thank you; never mind.” He took a bottle of smelling-salts from the mantelpiece and smelt it. The conversation flagged a little. Pauline sat at the window, and Mr. Thomas at the table. At last he observed.