in general,

when it was down, “my way out of this is to put you all in the

wrong.”

It was a bit of the art of an Old Bailey tactician, in which he

found great relief. “You shall not put me in the wrong, young

lady,” said Mr. Stryver; “I’ll do that for you.”

Accordingly, when Mr. Lorry called that night as late as ten

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

o’clock, Mr. Stryver, among a quantity of books and papers,

littered out for the purpose, seemed to have nothing less on his

mind than the subject of the morning. He even showed surprise

when he saw Mr. Lorry, and was altogether in an absent and

preoccupied state.

“Well!” said that good-natured emissary, after a full half-hour of

bootless attempts to bring him round to the question. “I have been

to Soho.”

“To Soho?” repeated Mr. Stryver, coldly. “Oh, to be sure! What

am I thinking of!”

“And I have no doubt,” said Mr. Lorry, “that I was right in the

conversation we had. My opinion is confirmed, and I reiterate my

advice.”

“I assure you,” returned Mr. Stryver, in the friendliest way,

“that I am sorry for it on your account, and sorry for it on the poor

father’s account. I know this must always be a sore subject with

the family; let us say no more about it.”

“I don’t understand you,” said Mr. Lorry.

“I daresay not,” rejoined Stryver, nodding his head in