When they present themselves in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Mr. Tulkinghorn is engaged and not to be seen.  He is not at all willing to see them, for when they have waited a full hour, and the clerk, on his bell being rung, takes the opportunity of mentioning as much, he brings forth no more encouraging message than that Mr. Tulkinghorn has nothing to say to them and they had better not wait.  They do wait, however, with the perseverance of military tactics, and at last the bell rings again and the client in possession comes out of Mr. Tulkinghorn’s room.

The client is a handsome old lady, no other than Mrs. Rouncewell, housekeeper at Chesney Wold.  She comes out of the sanctuary with a fair old-fashioned curtsy and softly shuts the door.  She is treated with some distinction there, for the clerk steps out of his pew to show her through the outer office and to let her out.  The old lady is thanking him for his attention when she observes the comrades in waiting.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I think those gentlemen are military?”

The clerk referring the question to them with his eye, and Mr. George not turning round from the almanac over the fire-place.  Mr. Bagnet takes upon himself to reply, “Yes, ma’am.  Formerly.”

“I thought so.  I was sure of it.  My heart warms, gentlemen, at the sight of you.  It always does at the sight of such.  God bless you, gentlemen!  You’ll excuse an old woman, but I had a son once who went for a soldier.  A fine handsome youth he was, and good in his bold way, though some people did disparage him to his poor mother.  I ask your pardon for troubling you, sir.  God bless you, gentlemen!”

“Same to you, ma’am!” returns Mr. Bagnet with right good will.

There is something very touching in the earnestness of the old lady’s voice and in the tremble that goes through her quaint old figure.  But Mr. George is so occupied with the almanac over the fire-place (calculating the coming months by it perhaps) that he does not look round until she has gone away and the door is closed upon her.

“George,” Mr. Bagnet gruffly whispers when he does turn from the almanac at last.  “Don’t be cast down!  ’Why, soldiers, why—­should we be melancholy, boys?’ Cheer up, my hearty!”

The clerk having now again gone in to say that they are still there and Mr. Tulkinghorn being heard to return with some irascibility, “Let ’em come in then!” they pass into the great room with the painted ceiling and find him standing before the fire.

“Now, you men, what do you want?  Sergeant, I told you the last time I saw you that I don’t desire your company here.”

Sergeant replies—­dashed within the last few minutes as to his usual manner of speech, and even as to his usual carriage—­that he has received this letter, has been to Mr. Smallweed about it, and has been referred there.

“I have nothing to say to you,” rejoins Mr. Tulkinghorn.  “If you get into debt, you must pay your debts or take the consequences.  You have no occasion to come here to learn that, I suppose?”