Mr. Smallweed has run down again, while Mr. Weevle’s eye, attended by Mr. Guppy’s eye, has again gone round the room and come back.

“Well, sir,” says Mr. Weevle.  “We won’t intrude any longer if you’ll allow us to go upstairs.”

“Anywhere, my dear sir, anywhere!  You’re at home.  Make yourself so, pray!”

As they go upstairs, Mr. Guppy lifts his eyebrows inquiringly and looks at Tony.  Tony shakes his head.  They find the old room very dull and dismal, with the ashes of the fire that was burning on that memorable night yet in the discoloured grate.  They have a great disinclination to touch any object, and carefully blow the dust from it first.  Nor are they desirous to prolong their visit, packing the few movables with all possible speed and never speaking above a whisper.

“Look here,” says Tony, recoiling.  “Here’s that horrible cat coming in!”

Mr. Guppy retreats behind a chair.  “Small told me of her.  She went leaping and bounding and tearing about that night like a dragon, and got out on the house-top, and roamed about up there for a fortnight, and then came tumbling down the chimney very thin.  Did you ever see such a brute?  Looks as if she knew all about it, don’t she?  Almost looks as if she was Krook.  Shoohoo!  Get out, you goblin!”

Lady Jane, in the doorway, with her tiger snarl from ear to ear and her club of a tail, shows no intention of obeying; but Mr. Tulkinghorn stumbling over her, she spits at his rusty legs, and swearing wrathfully, takes her arched back upstairs.  Possibly to roam the house-tops again and return by the chimney.

“Mr. Guppy,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, “could I have a word with you?”

Mr. Guppy is engaged in collecting the Galaxy Gallery of British Beauty from the wall and depositing those works of art in their old ignoble band-box.  “Sir,” he returns, reddening, “I wish to act with courtesy towards every member of the profession, and especially, I am sure, towards a member of it so well known as yourself—­I will truly add, sir, so distinguished as yourself.  Still, Mr. Tulkinghorn, sir, I must stipulate that if you have any word with me, that word is spoken in the presence of my friend.”

“Oh, indeed?” says Mr. Tulkinghorn.

“Yes, sir.  My reasons are not of a personal nature at all, but they are amply sufficient for myself.”

“No doubt, no doubt.”  Mr. Tulkinghorn is as imperturbable as the hearthstone to which he has quietly walked.  “The matter is not of that consequence that I need put you to the trouble of making any conditions, Mr. Guppy.”  He pauses here to smile, and his smile is as dull and rusty as his pantaloons.  “You are to be congratulated, Mr. Guppy; you are a fortunate young man, sir.”

“Pretty well so, Mr. Tulkinghorn; I don’t complain.”

“Complain?  High friends, free admission to great houses, and access to elegant ladies!  Why, Mr. Guppy, there are people in London who would give their ears to be you.”