And though we grumbled when Clarence was detained at the office later than we expected, this was qualified by pride at feeling his importance there as a man in authority. It was, however, with much dismay and some inhospitality that we learnt that a young man belonging to the office—in fact, Mr. Frith’s great-nephew—was coming to sail for Canton in one of the vessels belonging to the firm, and would have to be ‘looked after.’ He could not be asked to sleep at Prospect Cottage, for Emily had the only spare bedchamber, and Clarence had squeezed himself into a queer little dressing closet to give me his room; but the housekeeper (a treasure found by Gooch) secured an apartment in the next house, and we were to act hosts, much against our will. Clarence had barely seen the youth, who had been employed in the office at Liverpool, living with his mother, who was in ill-health and had died in the last spring. The only time of seeing him, he had seemed to be a very shy raw lad; but, ‘poor fellow, we can make the best of him,’ was the sentiment; ‘it is only for one night.’ However, we were dismayed when, as Emily was in the crisis of washing-in a sky, it was announced that a gentleman was asking for Mr. Winslow. Churlishness bade us despatch him to the office, but humanity prevailed to invite him previously to share our luncheon. Yet we doubted whether it had not been a cruel mercy when he entered, evidently unprepared to stumble on a young lady and a deformed man, and stammering piteously as he hoped there was no mistake—Mr. Winslow—Prospect, etc. Emily explained, frustrating his desire to flee at once to the office, and pointing out his lodging, close at hand, whence he was invited to return in a few minutes to the meal. We had time for some amiable exclamations, ‘The oaf!’ ‘What a bore!’ ‘He has spoilt my sky!’ ‘I shan’t finish this to-day!’ ‘Shall we order a carriage and take him to the office; we can’t have him on our hands all the afternoon?’ ‘And we might get the new number of _Nicholas Nickleby_.’