‘I wonder where he would be!’ Edwin thought.  But he only thought it, because Mr. Grewgious came and stood himself with his back to the other corner of the fire, and his shoulder-blades against the chimneypiece, and collected his skirts for easy conversation.

’I take it, without having the gift of prophecy, that you have done me the favour of looking in to mention that you are going down yonder—­where I can tell you, you are expected—­and to offer to execute any little commission from me to my charming ward, and perhaps to sharpen me up a bit in any proceedings?  Eh, Mr. Edwin?’

‘I called, sir, before going down, as an act of attention.’

‘Of attention!’ said Mr. Grewgious.  ’Ah! of course, not of impatience?’

‘Impatience, sir?’

Mr. Grewgious had meant to be arch—­not that he in the remotest degree expressed that meaning—­and had brought himself into scarcely supportable proximity with the fire, as if to burn the fullest effect of his archness into himself, as other subtle impressions are burnt into hard metals.  But his archness suddenly flying before the composed face and manner of his visitor, and only the fire remaining, he started and rubbed himself.

‘I have lately been down yonder,’ said Mr. Grewgious, rearranging his skirts; ’and that was what I referred to, when I said I could tell you you are expected.’

‘Indeed, sir!  Yes; I knew that Pussy was looking out for me.’

‘Do you keep a cat down there?’ asked Mr. Grewgious.

Edwin coloured a little as he explained:  ‘I call Rosa Pussy.’

‘O, really,’ said Mr. Grewgious, smoothing down his head; ’that’s very affable.’

Edwin glanced at his face, uncertain whether or no he seriously objected to the appellation.  But Edwin might as well have glanced at the face of a clock.

‘A pet name, sir,’ he explained again.

‘Umps,’ said Mr. Grewgious, with a nod.  But with such an extraordinary compromise between an unqualified assent and a qualified dissent, that his visitor was much disconcerted.

‘Did PRosa—­’ Edwin began by way of recovering himself.

‘PRosa?’ repeated Mr. Grewgious.

’I was going to say Pussy, and changed my mind;—­did she tell you anything about the Landlesses?’

‘No,’ said Mr. Grewgious.  ’What is the Landlesses?  An estate?  A villa?  A farm?’

‘A brother and sister.  The sister is at the Nuns’ House, and has become a great friend of P—­’

‘PRosa’s,’ Mr. Grewgious struck in, with a fixed face.

’She is a strikingly handsome girl, sir, and I thought she might have been described to you, or presented to you perhaps?’

‘Neither,’ said Mr. Grewgious.  ‘But here is Bazzard.’