been a little fidgety, and now struck in.
    »There, there, there!« said he. »That is quite understood, Mrs. Clennam, and
you have spoken piously and well. Mr. Blandois, I suspect, is not of a pious
cast.«
    »On the contrary, sir!« that gentleman protested, snapping his fingers.
»Your pardon! It's a part of my character. I am sensitive, ardent,
conscientious, and imaginative. A sensitive, ardent, conscientious, and
imaginative man, Mr. Flintwinch, must be that, or nothing!«
    There was an inkling of suspicion in Mr. Flintwinch's face that he might be
nothing, as he swaggered out of his chair (it was characteristic of this man, as
it is of all men similarly marked, that whatever he did, he overdid, though it
were sometimes by only a hair's-breadth), and approached to take his leave of
Mrs. Clennam.
    »With what will appear to you the egotism of a sick old woman, sir,« she
then said, »though really through your accidental allusion, I have been led away
into the subject of myself and my infirmities. Being so considerate as to visit
me, I hope you will be likewise so considerate as to overlook that. Don't
compliment me, if you please.« For he was evidently going to do it. »Mr.
Flintwinch will be happy to render you any service, and I hope your stay in this
city may prove agreeable.«
    Mr. Blandois thanked her, and kissed his hand several times. »This is an old
room,« he remarked, with a sudden sprightliness of manner, looking round when he
got near the door. »I have been so interested that I have not observed it. But
it's a genuine old room.«
    »It is a genuine old house,« said Mrs. Clennam, with her frozen smile. »A
place of no pretensions, but a piece of antiquity.«
    »Faith!« cried the visitor. »If Mr. Flintwinch would do me the favour to
take me through the rooms on my way out, he could hardly oblige me more. An old
house is a weakness with me. I have many weaknesses, but none greater. I love
and study the picturesque in all its varieties. I have been called picturesque
myself. It is no merit to be picturesque - I have greater merits, perhaps - but
I may be, by an accident. Sympathy, sympathy!