“I quite understand that,” said I.
“Perhaps—er—it may not be worth the form, but it might be a satisfaction to your mind—perhaps you wouldn’t object to admit that, miss?” said Mr. Guppy.
“I admit it most fully and freely,” said I.
“Thank you,” returned Mr. Guppy. “Very honourable, I am sure. I regret that my arrangements in life, combined with circumstances over which I have no control, will put it out of my power ever to fall back upon that offer or to renew it in any shape or form whatever, but it will ever be a retrospect entwined—er—with friendship’s bowers.” Mr. Guppy’s bronchitis came to his relief and stopped his measurement of the table.
“I may now perhaps mention what I wished to say to you?” I began.
“I shall be honoured, I am sure,” said Mr. Guppy. “I am so persuaded that your own good sense and right feeling, miss, will—will keep you as square as possible—that I can have nothing but pleasure, I am sure, in hearing any observations you may wish to offer.”
“You were so good as to imply, on that occasion—”
“Excuse me, miss,” said Mr. Guppy, “but we had better not travel out of the record into implication. I cannot admit that I implied anything.”
“You said on that occasion,” I recommenced, “that you might possibly have the means of advancing my interests and promoting my fortunes by making discoveries of which I should be the subject. I presume that you founded that belief upon your general knowledge of my being an orphan