“Yes.”

“Why have you?”

“If you will allow me to walk beside you, Mr. Boffin, I will tell you. Would you object to turn aside into this place⁠—I think it is called Clifford’s Inn⁠—where we can hear one another better than in the roaring street?”

(“Now,” thought Mr. Boffin, “if he proposes a game at skittles, or meets a country gentleman just come into property, or produces any article of jewellery he has found, I’ll knock him down!” With this discreet reflection, and carrying his stick in his arms much as Punch carries his, Mr. Boffin turned into Clifford’s Inn aforesaid.)