 next day. This
kind office performed, Captain Cuttle, who considered himself the natural and
lawful body-guard of Florence, mounted the box with a mighty sense of his trust,
and escorted her home. At parting, he assured her that he would stand by Sol
Gills, close and true; and once again inquired of Susan Nipper, unable to forget
her gallant words in reference to Mrs. MacStinger, »Would you, do you think, my
dear, though!«
    When the desolate house had closed upon the two, the Captain's thoughts
reverted to the old Instrument-maker, and he felt uncomfortable. Therefore,
instead of going home, he walked up and down the street several times, and,
eking out his leisure until evening, dined late at a certain angular little
tavern in the City, with a public parlour like a wedge, to which glazed hats
much resorted. The Captain's principal intention was to pass Sol Gills's after
dark, and look in through the window: which he did. The parlour door stood open,
and he could see his old friend writing busily and steadily at the table within,
while the little Midshipman, already sheltered from the night dews, watched him
from the counter; under which Rob the Grinder made his own bed, preparatory to
shutting the shop. Re-assured by the tranquillity that reigned within the
precincts of the wooden mariner, the Captain headed for Brig Place, resolving to
weigh anchor betimes in the morning.
 

                                  Chapter XXIV

                          The Study of a Loving Heart.

Sir Barnet and Lady Skettles, very good people, resided in a pretty villa at
Fulham, on the banks of the Thames; which was one of the most desirable
residences in the world when a rowing-match happened to be going past, but had
its little inconveniences at other times, among which may be enumerated the
occasional appearance of the river in the drawing-room, and the contemporaneous
disappearance of the lawn and shrubbery.
    Sir Barnet Skettles expressed his personal consequence chiefly through an
antique gold snuff-box, and a ponderous silk pocket-handkerchief, which he had
an imposing manner of drawing out of his pocket like a banner, and using with
both hands at once. Sir Barnet's object in life was constantly to extend the
range of his acquaintance. Like a heavy body dropped into water - not to
disparage so worthy a gentleman by the comparison - it was in the nature of
things that Sir Barnet must spread an ever-widening circle about him, until
there was no room left. Or, like a sound in air,
