"Now. We are going to have lunch at my offices, she'll be there. We'll
talk the matter over after lunch."

"Very well, let's start. Come along, Triss."

With Triss tugging dangerously at the silk handkerchief whenever he
saw a likely pair of legs or a dog that he fancied, the young men
sauntered up West Street.

"But tell me: how do you manage to have so many people to lunch in
your office; your premises must be pretty extensive?"

"I have the whole house; I was obliged to take it. I couldn't get
another place that would suit me, and I thought I should be able to
let the upper part; I did have a tenant for a little while, but he was
obliged to leave. I believe I am the unluckiest fellow alive. Here's
the place."

"Agency for Artificial Manure" was printed over the door. Willy asked
the office-boy if there were any letters, and they went upstairs. The
windows of the front room were in view of a church spire, and
overlooked a little shadowy cemetery; and at one window Cissy sat, the
little crutches by her side, watching the children playing amid the
tombs.

"Where's your mother, Cissy?"

"In the back room cooking herrings, uncle."

Mrs. Brookes was a homely, honest-eyed woman, with dingy yellow hair.