ndon, or else bring me straightway back again. And I took only just
things enough for a day or two, meaning to come back by the end of the
week. And I kissed Mrs. Hockin just enough for that.

It would not be a new thing for me to say that "we never know what is
going to happen;" but, new or stale, it was true enough, as old
common sayings of common-sense (though spurned when not wanted) show
themselves. At first, indeed, it seemed as if I were come for nothing,
at least as concerned what I thought the chief business of my journey.
The Major had wished to go first to the bank, and appeared to think
nothing of any thing else; but I, on the other hand, did not want him
there, preferring to keep him out of my money matters, and so he was
obliged to let me have my way.

I always am sorry when I have been perverse, and it seemed to serve me
right for willfulness when no Betsy Bowen could be discovered either at
the place which we tried first, or that to which we were sent thence.
Major Hockin looked at me till I could have cried, as much as to hint
that the whole of my story was all of a piece, all a wild-goose chase.
And being more curious than ever now to go to the bank and ransack,
he actually called out to the cabman to drive without delay to Messrs.
Shovelin, Wayte, and Shovelin. But I begged him to allow me just one
minute while I spoke to the servant-maid alone. Then I showed her a
sovereign, at which she opened her mouth in more ways than one, for she
told me that "though she had faithfully promised to say nothing about
it, because of a dreadful quarrel between her mistress and Mrs. Strouss
that was now, and a jealousy between them that was quite beyond
belief, she could not refuse such a nice young lady, if I would
promise faithfully not to tell." This promise I gave with fidelity, and
returning to the cabman, directed him to drive not to Messrs. Shovelin,
Wayte, and Shovelin just yet, but to No. 17 European Square, St.
Katharine's.

From a maze of streets and rugged corners, and ins and outs nearly
as crooked as those of a narrow human nature, we turned at last into
European Square, which was no square at all, but an oblong opening
pitched with rough granite, and distinguished with a pump. There were
great thoroughfares within a hundred yards, but the place itself seemed
unnaturally quiet upon turning suddenly into it, only murmurous with
distant London din, as the spires of a shell hold the heavings of the
sea.