To the Old Street Road we went, and there inquired at Mrs Guppy’s residence for Mrs Guppy. Mrs Guppy, occupying the parlours, and having indeed been visibly in danger of cracking herself like a nut in the front-parlour door by peeping out before she was asked for, immediately presented herself and requested us to walk in. She was an old lady in a large cap, with rather a red nose and rather an unsteady eye, but smiling all over. Her close little sitting-room was prepared for a visit; and there was a portrait of her son in it, which, I had almost written here, was more like than life: it insisted upon him with such obstinacy, and was so determined not to let him off.

Not only was the portrait there, but we found the original there too. He was dressed in a great many colours and was discovered at a table reading law-papers with his forefinger to his forehead.

“Miss Summerson,” said Mr Guppy, rising, “this is indeed an Oasis. Mother, will you be so good as to put a chair for the other lady, and get out of the gang-way.”

Mrs Guppy, whose incessant smiling gave her quite a waggish appearance, did as her son requested; and then sat down in a corner, holding her pocket handkerchief to her chest, like a fomentation, with both hands.

I presented Caddy, and Mr Guppy said that any friend of mine was more than welcome. I then proceeded to the object of my visit.

“I took the liberty of sending you a note, sir,” said I.

Mr Guppy acknowledged its receipt by taking it out of his breast pocket, putting it to his lips, and returning it to his pocket with a bow. Mr Guppy’s mother was so diverted that she rolled her head as she smiled and made a silent appeal to Caddy with her elbow.

“Could I speak to you alone for a moment?” said I.

Anything like the jocoseness of Mr Guppy’s mother just now, I think I never saw. She made no sound of laughter; but she rolled her head, and shook it, and put her handkerchief to her mouth, and appealed to Caddy with her elbow, and her hand, and her shoulder, and was so unspeakably entertained altogether that it was with some difficulty she could marshal Caddy through the little folding-door into her bed-room adjoining.

“Miss Summerson,” said Mr Guppy, “you will excuse the waywardness of a parent ever mindful of a son’s appiness. My mother, though highly exasperating to the feelings, is actuated by maternal dictates.”

I could hardly have believed that anybody could in a moment have turned so red or changed so much as Mr Guppy did when I now put up my veil.

“I asked the favour of seeing you for a few moments here,” said I, “in preference to calling at Mr Kenge’s because, remembering what you said on an occasion when you spoke to me in confidence, I feared I might otherwise cause you some embarrassment, Mr Guppy.”

I caused him embarrassment enough as it was, I am sure. I never saw such faltering, such confusion, such amazement and apprehension.

“Miss Summerson,” stammered Mr Guppy, “I — I — beg your pardon, but in our profession — we — we — find it necessary to be explicit. You have referred to an occasion, miss, when I — when I did myself the honour of making a declaration which—”

Something seemed to rise in his throat that he could not possibly swallow. He put his hand there, coughed, made faces, tried again to swallow it, coughed again, made faces again, looked all round the room, and fluttered his papers.