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 cessary out so far as the attendance, which was its pretended object, went, was planned by me alone for Thee alone. If I speak of interest, it is only to recommend myself and my respectful wretchedness. Love was before it, and is before it.”

“I should be pained, Mr. Guppy,” said I, rising and putting my hand upon the bell-rope, “to do you, or anyone who was sincere, the injustice of slighting any honest feeling, however disagreeably expressed. If you have really meant to give me a proof of your good opinion, though ill-timed and misplaced, I feel that I ought to thank you. I have very little reason to be proud, and I am not proud. I hope,” I think I added, without very well knowing what I said, “that you will now go away as if you had never been so exceedingly foolish, and attend to Messrs. Kenge and Carboy’s business.”

“Half a minute, miss !” cried Mr. Guppy, checking me as I was about to ring. “This has been without prejudice ?”

“I will never mention it,” said I, “unless you should give me future occasion to do so.”

“A quarter of a minute, miss ! In case you should think better—at any time, however distant, that’s no consequence, for my feelings can never alter—of anything I have said, particularly what might I not do—Mr. William Guppy, eighty-seven, Penton Place, or, if removed, or dead (of blighted hopes or anything of that sort), care of Mrs. Guppy, three hundred and two. Old Street Road, will be sufficient.”

I rang the bell, the servant came, and Mr. Guppy, laying his written card upon the table, and making a dejected bow, departed. Raising my eyes as he went out, I once more saw him looking at me after he had passed the door.

I sat there for another hour or more, finishing my books and payments, and getting through plenty of business. Then, I arranged my desk, and put everything away, and was so composed and cheerful that I thought I had quite dismissed this unexpected incident. But, when I went up-stairs to my own room, I surprised myself by beginning to laugh about it, and then surprised myself still more by beginning to cry about it. In short, I was in a flutter for a little while ; and felt as if an old chord had been more coarsely touched than it ever had been since the days of the dear old doll, long buried in the garden.

 

the eastern borders of Chancery Lane, that is to say, more particularly, in Cook’s Court, Cursitor Street, Mr. Snagsby, Law Stationer, pursues his lawful calling. In the shade of Cook’s Court, at most times a shady place, Mr. Snagsby has dealt in all sorts of blank forms of legal process; in skins and rolls of parchment; in paper—foolscap, brief, draft, brown, white, whitey-brown, and blotting ; in stamps ; in office-quills, pens, ink. India-rubber, pounce, pins, pencils, sealing-wax, and wafers ; in red tape, and green ferret ; in pocket-books, almanacks, 