Then, the Analytical, perusing a scrap of paper lying on the salver, with the air of a literary censor, adjusts it, takes his time about going to the table with it, and presents it to Mr. Eugene Wrayburn. Whereupon the pleasant Tippins says aloud, “The Lord Chancellor has resigned!”

With distracting coolness and slowness⁠—for he knows the curiosity of the Charmer to be always devouring⁠—Eugene makes a pretence of getting out an eyeglass, polishing it, and reading the paper with difficulty, long after he has seen what is written on it. What is written on it in wet ink, is:

“Young Blight.”

“Waiting?” says Eugene over his shoulder, in confidence, with the Analytical.

“Waiting,” returns the Analytical in responsive confidence.