“Indeed, sir?” said Mr. Bucket. “Then you will be so good as to let me leave Miss Summerson with you for a moment while I go and have half a word with him?”
The last police-officer with whom he had conferred was standing silently behind us. I was not aware of it until he struck in on my saying I heard someone crying.
“Don’t be alarmed, miss,” he returned. “It’s Snagsby’s servant.”
“Why, you see,” said Mr. Bucket, “the girl’s subject to fits, and has ’em bad upon her tonight. A most contrary circumstance it is, for I want certain information out of that girl, and she must be brought to reason somehow.”
“At all events, they wouldn’t be up yet if it wasn’t for her, Mr. Bucket,” said the other man. “She’s been at it pretty well all night, sir.”
“Well, that’s true,” he returned. “My light’s burnt out. Show yours a moment.”
All this passed in a whisper a door or two from the house in which I could faintly hear crying and moaning. In the little round of light produced for the purpose, Mr. Bucket went up to the door and knocked. The door was opened after he had knocked twice, and he went in, leaving us standing in the street.
“Miss Summerson,” said Mr. Woodcourt, “if without obtruding myself on your confidence I may remain near you, pray let me do so.”
“You are truly kind,” I answered. “I need wish to keep no secret of my own from you; if I keep any, it is another’s.”
“I quite understand. Trust me, I will remain near you only so long as I can fully respect it.”