Quirk, "I don't fear this girl of
Tag-rag's--because only let Titmouse see--hem," he suddenly paused, and
looked a little confused.

"To be sure--I see," replied Gammon, quietly, and the thing passed off.
"If either Miss Quirk or Miss Tag-rag becomes Mrs. Titmouse," thought
he, "I am not the man I take myself for."

A few days after Titmouse's expulsion from Satin Lodge, without his
having ever gone near Tag-rag's premises in Oxford Street, or in short,
seen or heard anything about him, or any one connected with him,
Titmouse removed to small but very respectable lodgings in the
neighborhood of Hatton Garden, provided for him by Mr. Quirk. Mrs.
Squallop was quite affected while she took leave of Titmouse, who gave
her son a penny to take his two boxes down-stairs to the hackney-coach
drawn up opposite to the entrance of Closet Court.

"I've always felt like a mother towards you, sir, in my humble way,"
said Mrs. Squallop, in a very respectful manner, and courtesying
profoundly.

"A--I've not got any--a--change by me, my good woman," said Titmouse,
with a fine air, as he drew on his white kid glove.

"Lord, Mr. Titmouse!" said the woman, almost bursting into tears, "I
wasn't asking for money, neither for me nor mine--only one can't help,
as it were, feeling at parting with an old lodger, you know, sir"--

"Ah--ya--as--and all that! Well, my good woman, good-day, good-day!"
quoth Titmouse, with an air of languid indifference.

"Good-by, sir--God bless you, sir, now you're going to be a rich
man!--Excuse me, sir."--And she seized his hand and shook it.

"You're a--devilish--impudent--woman--'pon my soul!" exclaimed Titmouse,
his features filled with amazement at the presumption of which she had
been guilty; and he strode down the stairs with an air of offended
dignity.

"Well--I never!--_That_ for you, you little brute," exclaimed Mrs.
Squallop, snapping her fingers as soon as she had heard his last step on
the stairs--"Kind or cruel, it's all one to you!--You're a nasty
jackanapes, only fit to stand in a tailor's window to show his
clothes--and I'll be sworn you'll come to no good in the end, please
God! Let you be _rich_ as you may, you'll always be the fool you always
was!"

Had the good woman been familiar with the Night Thoughts of Dr. Young,
she might have expressed herself somewhat tersely in a line of his--

"Pygmies are pygmies still, though perched on Alps."

And, by the way, who can read the n