highly mystifying, but that her attention was divided by the service of the table.
“You will take something with me?” said Jasper, as the cloth was laid.
“I couldn’t get a morsel down my throat, I thank you,” answered Mr. Grewgious.
Jasper both ate and drank almost voraciously. Combined with the hurry in his mode of doing it, was an evident indifference to the taste of what he took, suggesting that he ate and drank to fortify himself against any other failure of the spirits, far more than to gratify his palate. Mr. Grewgious in the meantime sat upright, with no expression in his face, and a hard kind of imperturbably polite protest all over him: as though he would have said, in reply to some invitation to discourse; “I couldn’t originate the faintest approach to an observation on any subject whatever, I thank you.”
“Do you know,” said Jasper, when he had pushed away his plate and glass, and had sat meditating for a few minutes: “do you know that I find some crumbs of comfort in the communication with which you have so much amazed me?”
“ Do you?” returned Mr. Grewgious, pretty plainly adding the unspoken clause: “I don’t, I thank you!”
“After recovering from the shock of a piece of news of my dear boy, so entirely unexpected, and so destructive of all the castles I had built for him; and after having had time to think of it; yes.”
“I shall be glad to pick up your crumbs,” said Mr. Grewgious, dryly.
“Is there not, or is there—if I deceive myself, tell me so, and shorten my pain—is there not, or is there, hope that, finding himself in this new position, and becoming sensitively alive to the awkward burden of