Mr. Kenge, adjusting his cravat, then looked at us.

“And Mr. Jellyby, sir?” suggested Richard.

“Ah!  Mr. Jellyby,” said Mr. Kenge, “is—­a—­I don’t know that I can describe him to you better than by saying that he is the husband of Mrs. Jellyby.”

“A nonentity, sir?” said Richard with a droll look.

“I don’t say that,” returned Mr. Kenge gravely.  “I can’t say that, indeed, for I know nothing whatever of Mr. Jellyby.  I never, to my knowledge, had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Jellyby.  He may be a very superior man, but he is, so to speak, merged—­merged—­in the more shining qualities of his wife.”  Mr. Kenge proceeded to tell us that as the road to Bleak House would have been very long, dark, and tedious on such an evening, and as we had been travelling already, Mr. Jarndyce had himself proposed this arrangement.  A carriage would be at Mrs. Jellyby’s to convey us out of town early in the forenoon of to-morrow.

He then rang a little bell, and the young gentleman came in.  Addressing him by the name of Guppy, Mr. Kenge inquired whether Miss Summerson’s boxes and the rest of the baggage had been “sent round.”  Mr. Guppy said yes, they had been sent round, and a coach was waiting to take us round too as soon as we pleased.

“Then it only remains,” said Mr. Kenge, shaking hands with us, “for me to express my lively satisfaction in (good day, Miss Clare!) the arrangement this day concluded and my (good-bye to you, Miss Summerson!) lively hope that it will conduce to the happiness, the (glad to have had the honour of making your acquaintance, Mr. Carstone!) welfare, the advantage in all points of view, of all concerned!  Guppy, see the party safely there.”

“Where is ‘there,’ Mr. Guppy?” said Richard as we went downstairs.

“No distance,” said Mr. Guppy; “round in Thavies Inn, you know.”

“I can’t say I know where it is, for I come from Winchester and am strange in London.”

“Only round the corner,” said Mr. Guppy.  “We just twist up Chancery Lane, and cut along Holborn, and there we are in four minutes’ time, as near as a toucher.  This is about a London particular now, ain’t it, miss?” He seemed quite delighted with it on my account.

“The fog is very dense indeed!” said I.

“Not that it affects you, though, I’m sure,” said Mr. Guppy, putting up the steps.  “On the contrary, it seems to do you good, miss, judging from your appearance.”

I knew he meant well in paying me this compliment, so I laughed at myself for blushing at it when he had shut the door and got upon the box; and we all three laughed and chatted about our inexperience and the strangeness of London until we turned up under an archway to our destination—­a narrow street of high houses like an oblong cistern to hold the fog.  There was a confused little crowd of people, principally children, gathered about the house at which we stopped, which had a tarnished brass plate on the door with the inscription Jellyby.