By this time Mr. Grewgious had his agreement-lines, and his earnest-money, ready.  ‘I have signed it for the ladies, ma’am,’ he said, ’and you’ll have the goodness to sign it for yourself, Christian and Surname, there, if you please.’

‘Mr. Grewgious,’ said Mrs. Billickin in a new burst of candour, ‘no, sir!  You must excuse the Christian name.’

Mr. Grewgious stared at her.

‘The door-plate is used as a protection,’ said Mrs. Billickin, ’and acts as such, and go from it I will not.’

Mr. Grewgious stared at Rosa.

’No, Mr. Grewgious, you must excuse me.  So long as this ’ouse is known indefinite as Billickin’s, and so long as it is a doubt with the riff-raff where Billickin may be hidin’, near the street-door or down the airy, and what his weight and size, so long I feel safe.  But commit myself to a solitary female statement, no, Miss!  Nor would you for a moment wish,’ said Mrs. Billickin, with a strong sense of injury, ’to take that advantage of your sex, if you were not brought to it by inconsiderate example.’

Rosa reddening as if she had made some most disgraceful attempt to overreach the good lady, besought Mr. Grewgious to rest content with any signature.  And accordingly, in a baronial way, the sign-manual Billickin got appended to the document.

Details were then settled for taking possession on the next day but one, when Miss Twinkleton might be reasonably expected; and Rosa went back to Furnival’s Inn on her guardian’s arm.

Behold Mr. Tartar walking up and down Furnival’s Inn, checking himself when he saw them coming, and advancing towards them!

‘It occurred to me,’ hinted Mr. Tartar, ’that we might go up the river, the weather being so delicious and the tide serving.  I have a boat of my own at the Temple Stairs.’

‘I have not been up the river for this many a day,’ said Mr. Grewgious, tempted.

‘I was never up the river,’ added Rosa.

Within half an hour they were setting this matter right by going up the river.  The tide was running with them, the afternoon was charming.  Mr. Tartar’s boat was perfect.  Mr. Tartar and Lobley (Mr. Tartar’s man) pulled a pair of oars.  Mr. Tartar had a yacht, it seemed, lying somewhere down by Greenhithe; and Mr. Tartar’s man had charge of this yacht, and was detached upon his present service.  He was a jolly-favoured man, with tawny hair and whiskers, and a big red face.  He was the dead image of the sun in old woodcuts, his hair and whiskers answering for rays all around him.  Resplendent in the bow of the boat, he was a shining sight, with a man-of-war’s man’s shirt on—­or off, according to opinion—­ and his arms and breast tattooed all sorts of patterns.  Lobley seemed to take it easily, and so did Mr. Tartar; yet their oars bent as they pulled, and the boat bounded under them.  Mr. Tartar talked as if he were doing nothing, to Rosa who was really doing nothing,