Mr. Crisparkle, with a significant need complied; and rejoining Neville, went away with him.  They dined together, and parted at the yet unfinished and undeveloped railway station:  Mr. Crisparkle to get home; Neville to walk the streets, cross the bridges, make a wide round of the city in the friendly darkness, and tire himself out.

It was midnight when he returned from his solitary expedition and climbed his staircase.  The night was hot, and the windows of the staircase were all wide open.  Coming to the top, it gave him a passing chill of surprise (there being no rooms but his up there) to find a stranger sitting on the window-sill, more after the manner of a venturesome glazier than an amateur ordinarily careful of his neck; in fact, so much more outside the window than inside, as to suggest the thought that he must have come up by the water-spout instead of the stairs.

The stranger said nothing until Neville put his key in his door; then, seeming to make sure of his identity from the action, he spoke: 

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, coming from the window with a frank and smiling air, and a prepossessing address; ‘the beans.’

Neville was quite at a loss.

‘Runners,’ said the visitor.  ‘Scarlet.  Next door at the back.’

‘O,’ returned Neville.  ‘And the mignonette and wall-flower?’

‘The same,’ said the visitor.

‘Pray walk in.’

‘Thank you.’

Neville lighted his candles, and the visitor sat down.  A handsome gentleman, with a young face, but with an older figure in its robustness and its breadth of shoulder; say a man of eight-and-twenty, or at the utmost thirty; so extremely sunburnt that the contrast between his brown visage and the white forehead shaded out of doors by his hat, and the glimpses of white throat below the neckerchief, would have been almost ludicrous but for his broad temples, bright blue eyes, clustering brown hair, and laughing teeth.

‘I have noticed,’ said he; ‘—­my name is Tartar.’

Neville inclined his head.

’I have noticed (excuse me) that you shut yourself up a good deal, and that you seem to like my garden aloft here.  If you would like a little more of it, I could throw out a few lines and stays between my windows and yours, which the runners would take to directly.  And I have some boxes, both of mignonette and wall-flower, that I could shove on along the gutter (with a boathook I have by me) to your windows, and draw back again when they wanted watering or gardening, and shove on again when they were ship-shape; so that they would cause you no trouble.  I couldn’t take this liberty without asking your permission, so I venture to ask it.  Tartar, corresponding set, next door.’

‘You are very kind.’

’Not at all.  I ought to apologise for looking in so late.  But having noticed (excuse me) that you generally walk out at night, I thought I should inconvenience you least by awaiting your return.  I am always afraid of inconveniencing busy men, being an idle man.’