"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."
"Oh, 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."
Bazzard returned, accompanied by two waiters—an immoveable waiter, and a flying waiter; and the three brought in with them as much fog as gave a new roar to the fire. The flying waiter, who had brought everything on his shoulders, laid the cloth with amazing rapidity and dexterity; while the immoveable waiter, who had brought nothing, found fault with him. The flying waiter then highly polished all the glasses he had brought, and the immoveable waiter looked through them. The flying waiter then flew across Holborn for the soup, and flew back again, and then took another flight for the made-dish, and flew back again, and then took another flight for the joint and poultry, and flew back again, and between whiles took supplementary flights for a great variety of articles, as it was discovered from time to time that the immoveable waiter had forgotten them all.
