As she did so, Solomon turned to the followers of The Good

Republican Brutus of Antiquity, and offered a few words of

explanation in the French language, which caused them all to

relapse into their former places and pursuits.

“Now,” said Solomon, stopping at the dark street corner, “what

do you want?”

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“How dreadfully unkind in a brother nothing has ever turned

my love away from!” cried Miss Pross, “to give me such a greeting,

and show me no affection.”

“There. Con-found it! There,” said Solomon, making a dab at

Miss Pross’s lips with his own. “Now are you content?”

Miss Pross only shook her head and wept in silence.

“If you expect me to be surprised,” said her brother Solomon,

“I am not surprised; I knew you were here; I know of most people

who are here. If you really don’t want to endanger my existence

which I half believe you dogo your ways as soon as possible, and

let me go mine. I am busy. I am an official.”

“My English brother Solomon,” mourned Miss Pross, casting

up her tear-fraught eyes, “that had the makings in him of one of

the best and greatest of men in his native country, an official

among foreigners, and such foreigners! I would almost sooner

have seen the dear boy lying in his”

“I said so!” cried her brother, interrupting. “I knew it. You want

to be the death of me. I shall be rendered Suspected, by my own

sister. Just as I am getting on!”

“The gracious and merciful Heavens forbid!” cried Miss Pross.

“Far rather would I never see you again, dear Solomon, though I

have ever loved you truly, and ever shall. Say but one affectionate

word to me, and tell me there is nothing angry or estranged

between us, and I will detain you no longer.”

Good Miss Pross! As if the estrangement between them had

come of any culpability of hers. As if Mr. Lorry had not known it

for a fact years ago, in the quiet corner in Soho, that this precious

brother had spent her money and left her!

He was saying the affectionate word, however, with a far more

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grudging condescension and patronage than he could have shown

if their relative merits and positions had been reversed (which is

invariably the case, all the world over), when Mr. Cruncher,

touching him on the shoulder, hoarsely and unexpectedly

interposed with the following singular question:

“I say! Might I ask the favour? As to whether your name is John

Solomon, or Solomon John?”

The official turned towards him with a sudden distrust. He had

not previously uttered a word.

“Come!” said Mr. Cruncher. “Speak out, you know.” (Which, by

the way, was more than he could do himself) “John Solomon, or

Solomon John? She calls you Solomon, and she must know, being

your sister. And I know you’re John, you know. Which of the two