much as some others, after what passed between us at the house which is now turned out at windows. I have taken the liberty of calling upon you, Mr. Twemlow, to add a sort of postscript to what I said that day.”
Mr. Twemlow’s dry and hollow cheeks become more dry and hollow at the prospect of some new complication.
“Really,” says the uneasy little gentleman, “really, Mrs. Lammle, I should take it as a favour if you could excuse me from any further confidence. It has ever been one of the objects of my life—which, unfortunately, has not had many objects—to be inoffensive, and to keep out of cabals and interferences.”
Mrs. Lammle, by far the more observant of the two, scarcely finds it necessary to look at Twemlow while he speaks, so easily does she read him.
“My postscript—to retain the term I have used”—says Mrs. Lammle, fixing her eyes on his face, to enforce what she says