going to happen.
Cook says shrewdly, 'Oh a long time, bless you! Take your oath of that.'
And reference being made to Mr Perch, he confirms her view of the
case. Somebody wonders what he'll do, and whether he'll go out in any
situation. Mr Towlinson thinks not, and hints at a refuge in one of them
genteel almshouses of the better kind. 'Ah, where he'll have his little
garden, you know,' says Cook plaintively, 'and bring up sweet peas
in the spring.' 'Exactly so,' says Mr Towlinson, 'and be one of the
Brethren of something or another.' 'We are all brethren,' says Mrs
Perch, in a pause of her drink. 'Except the sisters,' says Mr Perch.
'How are the mighty fallen!' remarks Cook. 'Pride shall have a fall, and
it always was and will be so!' observes the housemaid.

It is wonderful how good they feel, in making these reflections; and
what a Christian unanimity they are sensible of, in bearing the common
shock with resignation. There is only one interruption to this excellent
state of mind, which is occasioned by a young kitchen-maid of inferior
rank--in black stockings--who, having sat with her mouth open for a long
time, unexpectedly discharges from it words to this effect, 'Suppose the
wages shouldn't be paid!' The company sit for a moment speechless; but
Cook recovering first, turns upon the young woman, and requests to
know how she dares insult the family, whose bread she eats, by such a
dishonest supposition, and whether she thinks that anybody, with a scrap
of honour left, could deprive poor servants of their pittance? 'Because
if that is your religious feelings, Mary Daws,' says Cook warmly, 'I
don't know where you mean to go to.

Mr Towlinson don't know either; nor anybody; and the young kitchen-maid,
appearing not to know exactly, herself, and scouted by the general
voice, is covered with confusion, as with a garment.

After a few days, strange people begin to call at the house, and to
make appointments with one another in the dining-room, as if they lived
there. Especially, there is a gentleman, of a Mosaic Arabian cast
of countenance, with a very massive watch-guard, who whistles in the
drawing-room, and, while he is waiting for the other gentleman, who
always has pen and ink in his pocket, asks Mr Towlinson (by the easy
name of 'Old Cock,') if he happens to know what the figure of them
crimson and gold hangings might have been, when new bought. The callers
and appointments in the dining-room become more numerou