"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 next line-- "And pyramids are pyramids in vales," without thinking for a moment, with a kind of proud sympathy, of certain _other_ characters in this history? Well! but let us pass on.