‘At all events,’ observed Fledgeby, with
a dry whistle, ’I hope she ain’t bad enough
to put any chap up to the fastenings, and get the
premises broken open. You look out. Keep
your weather eye awake and don’t make any more
acquaintances, however handsome. Of course you
always keep my name to yourself?’
‘Sir, assuredly I do.’
’If they ask it, say it’s Pubsey, or say
it’s Co, or say it’s anything you like,
but what it is.’
His grateful servant—in whose race gratitude
is deep, strong, and enduring—bowed his
head, and actually did now put the hem of his coat
to his lips: though so lightly that the wearer
knew nothing of it.
Thus, Fascination Fledgeby went his way, exulting
in the artful cleverness with which he had turned
his thumb down on a Jew, and the old man went his
different way up-stairs. As he mounted, the call
or song began to sound in his ears again, and, looking
above, he saw the face of the little creature looking
down out of a Glory of her long bright radiant hair,
and musically repeating to him, like a vision:
‘Come up and be dead! Come up and be dead!’
A RIDDLE WITHOUT AN ANSWER
Again Mr Mortimer Lightwood and Mr Eugene Wrayburn
sat together in the Temple. This evening, however,
they were not together in the place of business of
the eminent solicitor, but in another dismal set of
chambers facing it on the same second-floor; on whose
dungeon-like black outer-door appeared the legend:
MR EUGENE WRAYBURN
(Mr Lightwood’s Offices opposite.)
Appearances indicated that this establishment was
a very recent institution. The white letters
of the inscription were extremely white and extremely
strong to the sense of smell, the complexion of the
tables and chairs was (like Lady Tippins’s) a
little too blooming to be believed in, and the carpets
and floorcloth seemed to rush at the beholder’s
face in the unusual prominency of their patterns.
But the Temple, accustomed to tone down both the still
life and the human life that has much to do with it,
would soon get the better of all that.
‘Well!’ said Eugene, on one side of the
fire, ’I feel tolerably comfortable. I
hope the upholsterer may do the same.’
‘Why shouldn’t he?’ asked Lightwood,
from the other side of the fire.
‘To be sure,’ pursued Eugene, reflecting,
’he is not in the secret of our pecuniary affairs,
so perhaps he may be in an easy frame of mind.’
‘We shall pay him,’ said Mortimer.
‘Shall we, really?’ returned Eugene, indolently
surprised. ’You don’t say so!’
‘I mean to pay him, Eugene, for my part,’
said Mortimer, in a slightly injured tone.
‘Ah! I mean to pay him too,’ retorted
Eugene. ’But then I mean so much that I—that
I don’t mean.’
