'How d'ye do, sir?' said Mark.

'Oh!' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'Tapley, I believe? The Prodigal returned! We
don't want any beer, my friend.'

'Thankee, sir,' said Mark. 'I couldn't accommodate you if you did. A
letter, sir. Wait for an answer.'

'For me?' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'And an answer, eh?'

'Not for you, I think, sir,' said Mark, pointing out the direction.
'Chuzzlewit, I believe the name is, sir.'

'Oh!' returned Mr Pecksniff. 'Thank you. Yes. Who's it from, my good
young man?'

'The gentleman it comes from wrote his name inside, sir,' returned Mr
Tapley with extreme politeness. 'I see him a-signing of it at the end,
while I was a-waitin'.'

'And he said he wanted an answer, did he?' asked Mr Pecksniff in his
most persuasive manner.

Mark replied in the affirmative.

'He shall have an answer. Certainly,' said Mr Pecksniff, tearing the
letter into small pieces, as mildly as if that were the most flattering
attention a correspondent could receive. 'Have the goodness to give him
that, with my compliments, if you please. Good morning!' Whereupon he
handed Mark the scraps; retired, and shut the door.

Mark thought it prudent to subdue his personal emotions, and return to
Martin at the Dragon. They were not unprepared for such a reception,
and suffered an hour or so to elapse before making another attempt.
When this interval had gone by, they returned to Mr Pecksniff's house in
company. Martin knocked this time, while Mr Tapley prepared himself to
keep the door open with his foot and shoulder, when anybody came, and by
that means secure an enforced parley. But this precaution was needless,
for the servant-girl appeared almost immediately. Brushing quickly past
her as he had resolved in such a case to do, Martin (closely followed
by his faithful ally) opened the door of that parlour in which he knew
a visitor was most likely to be found; passed at once into the room; and
stood, without a word of notice or announcement, in the presence of his
grandfather.

Mr Pecksniff also was in the room; and Mary. In the swift instant of
their mutual recognition, Martin saw the old man droop his grey head,
and hide his face in his hands.

It smote him to the heart. In his most selfish and most careless day,
this lingering remnant of the old man's ancient love, this buttress of a
ruined tower he had built up in the time gone by, with so much pride and
hope, would have caused a pang in Martin's heart. But now, changed for