
and every spendthrift consideration urged him to look upon the proposal with
favour, and that where all other inducements were wanting, the habitual
carelessness of his disposition stepped in and still weighed down the scale on
the same side. To these impulses must be added the complete ascendency which his
friend had long been accustomed to exercise over him - an ascendency exerted in
the beginning sorely at the expense of the unfortunate Dick's purse and
prospects, but still maintained without the slightest relaxation,
notwithstanding that Dick suffered for all his friend's vices and was, in nine
cases out of ten, looked upon as his designing tempter when he was indeed
nothing but his thoughtless light-headed tool.
    The motives on the other side were something deeper than any which Richard
Swiveller entertained or understood, but these being left to their own
development, require no present elucidation. The negotiation was concluded very
pleasantly, and Mr. Swiveller was in the act of stating in flowery terms that he
had no insurmountable objection to marrying anybody plentifully endowed with
money or moveables, who could be induced to take him, when he was interrupted in
his observations by a knock at the door, and the consequent necessity of crying
»Come in.«
    The door was opened, but nothing came in except a soapy arm and a strong
gush of tobacco. The gush of tobacco came from the shop down stairs, and the
soapy arm proceeded from the body of a servant girl, who being then and there
engaged in cleaning the stairs had just drawn it out of a warm pail to take in a
letter, which letter she now held in her hand; proclaiming aloud, with that
quick perception of surnames peculiar to her class, that it was for Mister
Snivelling.
    Dick looked rather pale and foolish when he glanced at the direction, and
still more so when he came to look at the inside; observing that this was one of
the inconveniences of being a lady's man, and that it was very easy to talk as
they had been talking, but he had quite forgotten her.
    »Her. Who?« demanded Trent.
    »Sophy Wackles,« said Dick.
    »Who's she?«
    »She's all my fancy painted her, sir, that's what she is,« said Mr.
Swiveller, taking a long pull at »the rosy« and looking gravely at his friend.
»She is lovely, she's divine. You know her.«
    »I remember,« said his companion carelessly. »What of her?«
    »Why, sir,« returned Dick, »
