Soho while he was yet on St. Dunstan’s side of Temple Bar,

bursting in his full-blown way along the pavement, to the

jostlement of all weaker people, might have seen how safe and

strong he was.

His way taking him past Tellson’s, and he both banking at

Tellson’s and knowing Mr. Lorry as the intimate friend of the

Manettes, it entered Mr. Stryver’s mind to enter the bank, and

reveal to Mr. Lorry the brightness of the Soho horizon. So, he

pushed open the door with the weak rattle in its throat, stumbled

down the two steps, got past the two ancient cashiers, and

shouldered himself into the musty back closet where Mr. Lorry sat

at great books ruled for figures, with perpendicular iron bars to

his window as if that was ruled for figures too, and everything

under the clouds were a sum.

“Halloa!” said Mr. Stryver, “How do you do? I hope you are

well!”

It was Stryver’s grand peculiarity that he always seemed too big

for any place, or space. He was so much too big for Tellson’s, that

old clerks in distant corners looked up with looks of remonstrance,

as though he squeezed them against the wall. The House itself,

magnificently reading the paper quite in the far-off perspective,

lowered displeased, as if the Stryver head had been butted into its

responsible waistcoat.

The discreet Mr. Lorry said, in a sample tone of the voice he

would recommend under the circumstances, “How do you do, Mr.

Stryver? How do you do, sir?” and shook hands. There was a

peculiarity in his manner of shaking hands, always to be seen in

any clerk at Tellson’s who shook hands with a customer when the

House pervaded the air. He shook in a self-abnegating way, as one

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

who shook for Tellson & Co.

“Can I do anything for you, Mr. Stryver?” asked Mr. Lorry, in

his business character.

“Why, no, thank you; this is a private visit to yourself, Mr.

Lorry; I have come for a private word.”

“Oh indeed!” said Mr. Lorry, bending down his ear, while his

eye strayed to the House afar off.

“I am going,” said Mr. Stryver, leaning his arms confidently on

the desk: whereupon, although it was a large double one, there

appeared to be not half desk enough for him: “I am going to make

an offer of myself in marriage to your agreeable little friend, Miss

Manette, Mr. Lorry.”

“Oh dear me!” cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at

his visitor dubiously.

“Oh dear me, sir?” repeated Stryver, drawing back. “Oh dear

you, sir? What may your meaning be, Mr. Lorry?”

“My meaning,” answered the man of business, “is, of course,

friendly and appreciative, and that it does you the greatest credit,

andin short, my meaning is everything you could desire. But

really you know, Mr. Stryver” Mr. Lorry paused, and shook his