The linen-draper was a middle-aged, middle-sized, stoutish man, with plump rosy cheeks, keen black eyes, and features of the not uncommon pug-type, ennobled and harmonized by a genuine expression of kindly good-humour, and an excellent forehead. His dark hair was a little streaked with gray. His manner, which, in the shop, had been of the shop, that is, more deferential and would-be pleasing than Wingfold liked, settled as he took his seat into one more resembling that of a country gentleman. It was courteous and friendly, but clouded with a little anxiety. An uncomfortable pause following, Wingfold stumbled in with the question, “I hope Mrs. Drew is well,” without reflecting whether he had really ever heard of a Mrs. Drew. The draper’s face flushed. “It is twenty years since I lost her, sir,” he returned. In his tone and manner there was something peculiar. “I beg your pardon,” said Wingfold, with self-accusing sincerity. “I will be open with you sir,” continued his host: “she left me--with another--nearly twenty years ago.” “I am ashamed of my inadvertence,” rejoined Wingfold. “I have been such a short time here, and--” “Do not mention it, sir. How could you help it? Besides, it was not here the thing took place, but a hundred miles away. I hope I should before long have referred to the fact myself. But now I desire, if you will allow me, to speak of something different.” “I am at your service,” answered Wingfold. “Thank you, sir.--I was in your church last Sunday,” resumed the draper after a pause. “I am not one of your regular hearers, sir; but your sermon that day set me thinking, and instead of thinking less when Monday came, I have been thinking more and more ever since; and when I saw you in the shop, I could not resist the sudden desire to speak to you. If you have time, sir, I hope you will allow me to come to the point my own way?” Wingfold assured him that his time was at his own disposal, and could not be better occupied. Mr. Drew thanked him and went on. “Your sermon, I must confess, sir, made me uncomfortable--no fault of yours, sir--all my own--though how much the fault is, I hardly know: use and custom are hard upon a man, sir, and you would have a man go by other laws than those of the world he lives in. The earth is the Lord’s and the fulness thereof--you will doubtless say. That is over the Royal Exchange in London, I think; but it is not the laws of the Lord that are specially followed inside for all that. However, it is not with other people we have to do, but with ourselves--as you will say. Well then it is for myself I am troubled now. Mr. Wingfold, sir, I am not altogether at ease in my own mind as to the way I have made my money--what little money I have--no great sum, but enough to retire upon when I please. I would not have you think me worse than I am, but I am sincerely desirous of knowing what you would have me do.”