“What’s the matter?”

“The sun was going out to dinner —­ that’s all, —­ but you are a sufficient excuse for me.”

“Going to dinner? —­ where?”

“No. 11, on the Parade.”

“No. 11? —­ Mr. Haye’s? were you?  I’ll go too.  I won’t hinder you.”

“I am not sorry to be hindered,” said Winthrop.

“But I am! —­ at least, I should be.  We’ll both go.  How soon, Governor?”

“Presently.”

“I’ll be ready,” said Rufus, —­ “here’s my valise —­ but my shirt ruffles, I fear, are in a state of impoverished elegance. —­ I speak not in respect of one or two holes, of which they are the worse, —­ but solely in reference to the coercive power of narrow circumstances —­ which nobody knows anything of that hasn’t experienced it,” said Rufus, looking up from his valise to his brother with an expression half earnest, half comical.

“You are not suffering under it at this moment,” said Winthrop.

“Yes I am —­ in the form of my frills.  Look there! —­ I’ll tell you what I’ll do —­ I’ll invoke the charities of my good friend, Mrs. Nettley.  Is she down stairs? —­ I’ll be back in a moment, Winthrop.”

Down stairs, shirt in hand, went Rufus, and tapped at Mrs. Nettley’s door.  That is, the door of the room where she usually lived, a sort of better class kitchen, which held the place of what in houses of more pretension is called the ’back parlour.’  Mrs. Nettley’s own hand opened the door at his tap.

She was a strong contrast to her brother, with her rather small person and a face all the lines of which were like a cobweb set to catch every care that was flying; but woven by no malevolent spider; it was a very nest of kindliness and good-will.

“How d’ye do, Mrs. Nettley,” said Rufus softly.

“Why, Mr. Landholm! —­ are you there?  Come in —­ how good it is to see you again! but I didn’t expect it.”

“Didn’t expect to see me again?”

“No —­ O yes, of course, Mr. William,” said Mrs. Nettley laughing, —­ “I expected to see you again; but not now —­ I didn’t expect to see you when I opened the door.”

“I had the advantage, for I did expect to see you.”

“How do you do, Mr. Landholm?”

“Why, as well as a man can do, in want of a shirt,” said Rufus comically.

“Mr. Landholm? —­”

“You see, Mrs. Nettley,” Rufus went on, “I have come all the way from North Lyttleton to dine with a friend and my brother here; and now I am come, I find that without your good offices I haven’t a ruffle to ruffle myself withal; or in other words, I am afraid people would think I had packed myself bodily into my valise, and thereby conclude I was a smaller affair than they had thought me.”

“Mr. Landholm! —­ how you do talk! —­but can I do anything?”

“Why yes, ma’am, —­ or your irons can, if you have any hot.”

“O that’s it!” exclaimed Mrs. Nettley as Rufus held out the crumpled frills, —­ “It’s to smooth them, —­ yes sir, my fire is all out a’most, but I can iron them in the oven.  I’ll do it directly, Mr. Landholm.”