him according to the best models.  Nor is the examination unlike many such model displays, both in respect of its eliciting nothing and of its being lengthy, for Mr. Guppy is sensible of his talent, and Mrs. Snagsby feels not only that it gratifies her inquisitive disposition, but that it lifts her husband’s establishment higher up in the law.  During the progress of this keen encounter, the vessel Chadband, being merely engaged in the oil trade, gets aground and waits to be floated off.

“Well!” says Mr. Guppy.  “Either this boy sticks to it like cobbler’s-wax or there is something out of the common here that beats anything that ever came into my way at Kenge and Carboy’s.”

Mrs. Chadband whispers Mrs. Snagsby, who exclaims, “You don’t say so!”

“For years!” replied Mrs. Chadband.

“Has known Kenge and Carboy’s office for years,” Mrs. Snagsby triumphantly explains to Mr. Guppy.  “Mrs. Chadband—­this gentleman’s wife—­Reverend Mr. Chadband.”

“Oh, indeed!” says Mr. Guppy.

“Before I married my present husband,” says Mrs. Chadband.

“Was you a party in anything, ma’am?” says Mr. Guppy, transferring his cross-examination.

“No.”

“Not a party in anything, ma’am?” says Mr. Guppy.

Mrs. Chadband shakes her head.

“Perhaps you were acquainted with somebody who was a party in something, ma’am?” says Mr. Guppy, who likes nothing better than to model his conversation on forensic principles.

“Not exactly that, either,” replies Mrs. Chadband, humouring the joke with a hard-favoured smile.

“Not exactly that, either!” repeats Mr. Guppy.  “Very good.  Pray, ma’am, was it a lady of your acquaintance who had some transactions (we will not at present say what transactions) with Kenge and Carboy’s office, or was it a gentleman of your acquaintance?  Take time, ma’am.  We shall come to it presently.  Man or woman, ma’am?”

“Neither,” says Mrs. Chadband as before.

“Oh!  A child!” says Mr. Guppy, throwing on the admiring Mrs. Snagsby the regular acute professional eye which is thrown on British jurymen.  “Now, ma’am, perhaps you’ll have the kindness to tell us what child.”

“You have got it at last, sir,” says Mrs. Chadband with another hard-favoured smile.  “Well, sir, it was before your time, most likely, judging from your appearance.  I was left in charge of a child named Esther Summerson, who was put out in life by Messrs. Kenge and Carboy.”

“Miss Summerson, ma’am!” cries Mr. Guppy, excited.

“I call her Esther Summerson,” says Mrs. Chadband with austerity.  “There was no Miss-ing of the girl in my time.  It was Esther.  ‘Esther, do this!  Esther, do that!’ and she was made to do it.”

“My dear ma’am,” returns Mr. Guppy, moving across the small apartment, “the humble individual who now addresses you received that young lady in London when she first came here from the establishment to which you have alluded.  Allow me to have the pleasure of taking you by the hand.”