We did; and in a dozen ways the good fellow strove to show me his sorrow for his past doubts, picking me out the best bits of the pie, foaming up my glass with the ale, and when I expressed my fears of not being awake in time for the office, he promised to call me; and though he never owned to it, I have good reason for believing that he sat up writing out corrections in an old dictation lesson, calling me in excellent time, and having the breakfast all ready upon the table. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. MR HALLETT AT HOME. Punctual to the appointed time, I rang the topmost of four bells on the doorpost of one of the old-fashioned red-brick houses in Great Ormond Street, and a few minutes after it was opened by Mr Hallett, whose face lit up as he offered me his hand. "That's right, Antony!" he exclaimed; "now we'll go upstairs and see the ladies, and then you and I will have a walk till dinner-time." I followed him up the well-worn, uncarpeted stairs to the second floor, where he introduced me to his mother, a stern, pale, careworn-looking woman in a widow's cap, half sitting, half reclining in a large easy-chair. "How do you do?" she said, wearily, as she gazed at me through her half-closed eyes. "You are Stephen's friend. I am glad to see you; but you are very young," she added in an ill-used tone. "Not a very serious failing, mother dear," said Mr Hallett cheerfully. "No," said Mrs Hallett, "no. I am sorry we have not a better place to receive him in." "Tut--tut, dear," said Mr Hallett. "Antony Grace comes to see us, not our rooms or our furniture." I had already glanced round the large, old-fashioned room, which was shabbily furnished, but scrupulously clean, while everything was in good taste, and I hastened to say something about how glad I was to come. "Yes," said Mrs Hallett wearily; "it is very polite and nice of you to say so, but it is not the home I expected for my old age." "My mother is--" "You always used to call me _mamma_, Stephen," said Mrs Hallett, with the tears in her eyes. "Did I love you any more tenderly then, dear?" he said, bending over her and kissing her wrinkled forehead with reverent affection, and then placing his lips upon her hand. "No, Stephen, no," she cried, bursting into a fit of sobbing; "but--but we might cling to some of our old respectability, even if you will persist in being a workman and lowering our family by wearing aprons like a common man." "There, there, dear, don't fret," he said cheerfully. "You are in pain this morning. I am going for a walk with Antony Grace, and we'll bring you back a bunch of flowers." "No, no, don't--pray don't, Stephen," said Mrs Hallett querulously; "you cannot afford it, and it only puts me in mind of happier days, when we had our own garden, and I was so fond of my conservatory. You remember the camellias?" "Yes, yes, dear," he said, passing his arm round her; "and some day you shall have your conservatory again."