For the moment there is more of compassion, both for her and for himself, in her affianced husband’s face, than there is of love.  He checks the look, and asks:  ’Shall I take you out for a walk, Rosa dear?’

Rosa dear does not seem at all clear on this point, until her face, which has been comically reflective, brightens.  ’O, yes, Eddy; let us go for a walk!  And I tell you what we’ll do.  You shall pretend that you are engaged to somebody else, and I’ll pretend that I am not engaged to anybody, and then we shan’t quarrel.’

‘Do you think that will prevent our falling out, Rosa?’

’I know it will.  Hush!  Pretend to look out of window—­Mrs. Tisher!’

Through a fortuitous concourse of accidents, the matronly Tisher heaves in sight, says, in rustling through the room like the legendary ghost of a dowager in silken skirts:  ’I hope I see Mr. Drood well; though I needn’t ask, if I may judge from his complexion.  I trust I disturb no one; but there was a paper-knife--O, thank you, I am sure!’ and disappears with her prize.

‘One other thing you must do, Eddy, to oblige me,’ says Rosebud.  ’The moment we get into the street, you must put me outside, and keep close to the house yourself—­squeeze and graze yourself against it.’

‘By all means, Rosa, if you wish it.  Might I ask why?’

‘O! because I don’t want the girls to see you.’

‘It’s a fine day; but would you like me to carry an umbrella up?’

’Don’t be foolish, sir.  You haven’t got polished leather boots on,’ pouting, with one shoulder raised.

’Perhaps that might escape the notice of the girls, even if they did see me,’ remarks Edwin, looking down at his boots with a sudden distaste for them.

’Nothing escapes their notice, sir.  And then I know what would happen.  Some of them would begin reflecting on me by saying (for they are free) that they never will on any account engage themselves to lovers without polished leather boots.  Hark!  Miss Twinkleton.  I’ll ask for leave.’

That discreet lady being indeed heard without, inquiring of nobody in a blandly conversational tone as she advances:  ’Eh?  Indeed!  Are you quite sure you saw my mother-of-pearl button-holder on the work-table in my room?’ is at once solicited for walking leave, and graciously accords it.  And soon the young couple go out of the Nuns’ House, taking all precautions against the discovery of the so vitally defective boots of Mr. Edwin Drood:  precautions, let us hope, effective for the peace of Mrs. Edwin Drood that is to be.

‘Which way shall we take, Rosa?’

Rosa replies:  ‘I want to go to the Lumps-of-Delight shop.’

‘To the—?’

’A Turkish sweetmeat, sir.  My gracious me, don’t you understand anything?  Call yourself an Engineer, and not know that?’

‘Why, how should I know it, Rosa?’