The
silversmith's shop looked exactly the same as when he had first seen it:
the gas burning dimly, the tarnished old salvers and tankards gleaming
duskily in the faint light, with all manner of purple and greenish hues.
Mr. Tulliver was in his little den at the back of the shop, and emerged
with his usual rapidity at the ringing of the door-bell.
"O, it's you, is it, sir?" he asked in an indifferent, half-insolent
tone. "What can I do for you this evening?"
"Is your late master's granddaughter, Mrs. Holbrook, here?" Gilbert
asked.
"No; Mrs. Holbrook went away on the morning after my master's death. I
told you that when you called here last."
"I am quite aware of that; but I thought it likely Mrs. Holbrook might
return here with her husband, to take possession of the property, which I
suppose you know now belongs to her."
"Yes, I know all about that; but she hasn't come yet to take possession;
she doesn't seem in such a desperate hurry about it. I daresay she knows
that things are safe enough. Medler the lawyer is not the kind of party
to be cheated out of sixpence. He has taken an inventory of every article
in the place, and the weight and value of every article. Your friend Mrs.
Holbrook needn't be afraid. I suppose she's some relation of yours,
by-the-bye, sir, judging by the interest you seem to take in her
affairs?"
"Yes," Gilbert said, not caring to answer this question directly, "I do
take a warm interest in Mrs.
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