BOOK THE THIRD: A LONG LANE
Chapter 1: Lodgers in Queer Street (continued)
'Then why,' retorted Fledgeby, with some slight tinge of a blush,
'don't you out with your reason for having your spoon in the soup at
all?'
'Sir, I will tell you the truth. But (your pardon for the stipulation) it
is in sacred confidence; it is strictly upon honour.'
'Honour too!' cried Fledgeby, with a mocking lip. 'Honour among
Jews. Well. Cut away.'
'It is upon honour, sir?' the other still stipulated, with respectful
firmness.
'Oh, certainly. Honour bright,' said Fledgeby.
The old man, never bidden to sit down, stood with an earnest hand
laid on the back of the young man's easy chair. The young man sat
looking at the fire with a face of listening curiosity, ready to check
him off and catch him tripping.
'Cut away,' said Fledgeby. 'Start with your motive.'
'Sir, I have no motive but to help the helpless.'
Mr Fledgeby could only express the feelings to which this
incredible statement gave rise in his breast, by a prodigiously long
derisive sniff.
'How I came to know, and much to esteem and to respect, this
damsel, I mentioned when you saw her in my poor garden on the
house-top,' said the Jew.
'Did you?' said Fledgeby, distrustfully. 'Well. Perhaps you did,
though.'
'The better I knew her, the more interest I felt in her fortunes. They
gathered to a crisis. I found her beset by a selfish and ungrateful
brother, beset by an unacceptable wooer, beset by the snares of a
more powerful lover, beset by the wiles of her own heart.'
'She took to one of the chaps then?'
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