stool, and his hat on. Mr. Twemlow had uncovered on looking in at the door, and remained so. Now the conscientious Twemlow, knowing what he had done to thwart the gracious Fledgeby, was particularly disconcerted by this encounter. He was as ill at ease as a gentleman well could be. He felt himself bound to conduct himself stiffly towards Fledgeby, and he made him a distant bow. Fledgeby made his small eyes smaller in taking special note of his manner. The dolls’ dressmaker sat in her corner behind the door, with her eyes on the ground and her hands folded on her basket, holding her crutch-stick between them, and appearing to take no heed of anything.
“He’s a long time,” muttered Mr. Fledgeby, looking at his watch. “What time may you make it, Mr. Twemlow?”
Mr. Twemlow made it ten minutes past twelve, sir.
“As near as a toucher,” assented Fledgeby. “I hope, Mr. Twemlow, your business here may be of a more agreeable character than mine.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Twemlow.
Fledgeby again made his small eyes smaller, as he glanced with great complacency at Twemlow, who was timorously tapping the table with a folded letter.
“What I know of Mr. Riah,” said Fledgeby, with a very disparaging utterance of his name, “leads me to believe that this is about the shop for disagreeable business. I have always found him the bitingest and tightest screw in London.”
Mr. Twemlow acknowledged the remark with a little distant bow. It evidently made him nervous.
“So much so,” pursued Fledgeby, “that if it wasn’t to be true to a friend, nobody should catch me waiting here a single minute. But if you have friends in adversity, stand by them. That’s what I say and act up to.”