This imperfect sentence not being at all intelligible as a confession, but sounding like a Gargantuan order for a dram, brought him into new difficulties by occasioning his parent to pounce at him in a more than usually snappish manner, and to overwhelm him with bitter reproaches.
What was a bad time for Mr. Dolls, could not fail to be a bad time for the dolls’ dressmaker. However, she was on the alert next morning, and drove to Bond Street, and set down the two ladies punctually, and then directed her equipage to conduct her to the Albany. Arrived at the doorway of the house in which Mr. Fledgeby’s chambers were, she found a lady standing there in a travelling dress, holding in her hand—of all things in the world—a gentleman’s hat.
“You want someone?” said the lady in a stern manner.
“I am going upstairs to Mr. Fledgeby’s.”
“You cannot do that at this moment. There is a gentleman with him. I am waiting for the gentleman. His business with Mr. Fledgeby will very soon be transacted, and then you can go up. Until the gentleman comes down, you must wait here.”
While speaking, and afterwards, the lady kept watchfully between her and the staircase, as if prepared to oppose her going up, by force. The lady being of a stature to stop her with a hand, and looking mightily determined, the dressmaker stood still.
“Well? Why do you listen?” asked the lady.
“I am not listening,” said the dressmaker.
“What do you hear?” asked the lady, altering her phrase.
“Is it a kind of a spluttering somewhere?” said the dressmaker, with an inquiring look.