Littimer was there, and had his usual effect upon me. When I said to him that I hoped Mrs. Steerforth and Miss Dartle were well, he answered respectfully (and of course respectably), that they were tolerably well, he thanked me, and had sent their compliments. This was all, and yet he seemed to me to say as plainly as a man could say: “You are very young, sir; you are exceedingly young.”

We had almost finished dinner, when taking a step or two towards the table, from the corner where he kept watch upon us, or rather upon me, as I felt, he said to his master:

“I beg your pardon, sir. Miss Mowcher is down here.”

“Who?” cried Steerforth, much astonished.

“Miss Mowcher, sir.”

“Why, what on earth does she do here?” said Steerforth.