Mr. Gammon made his explanation with spirit and humour.

"You're a queer man, if ever there was one," Mrs. Clover remarked
after watching him for a moment and averting her eyes as soon as
they were met by his. "You know your own business best, but I should
have thought--"

It was a habit of hers to imply a weighty opinion by suddenly
breaking off, a form of speech known to the grammarians by a name
which would have astonished Mrs. Clover. Few women of her class are
prone to this kind of emphasis. Her friendly manner had a quietness,
a reserve in its cordiality, which suited well with the frank,
pleasant features of a matron not yet past her prime.

"It's all right," he replied, more submissively than he was wont to
speak. "I shall do better next time; I'm looking out for a
permanency."

"So you have been for ten years, to my knowledge."

They laughed together. At this point came an interruption in the
shape of a customer who drove up in a hansom: a loudly-dressed
woman, who, on entering the shop, conversed with Mrs. Clover in the
lowest possible voice, and presently returned to her vehicle with
uneasy glances left and right. Mr. Gammon, who had walked for some
twenty yards, sauntered back to the shop, and his friend met him on
the threshold.

"That's the sort," she whispered with a merry eye. "Eight-roomed