Miss Jenny got his Persian gown upon him, extinguished his eyes crookedly with his Persian cap, and helped him to his bed: upon which he climbed groaning. “Business between you and me being out of the question today, young man, and my time being precious,” said Miss Jenny then, “I’ll make myself scarce. Are you comfortable now?”

“Oh my eye!” cried Mr. Fledgeby. “No, I ain’t. Oh⁠—h⁠—h! how I do smart!”

The last thing Miss Jenny saw, as she looked back before closing the room door, was Mr. Fledgeby in the act of plunging and gambolling all over his bed, like a porpoise or dolphin in its native element. She then shut the bedroom door, and all the other doors, and going downstairs and emerging from the Albany into the busy streets, took omnibus for Saint Mary Axe: pressing on the road all the gaily-dressed ladies whom she could see from the window, and making them unconscious lay-figures for dolls, while she mentally cut them out and basted them.