'The greater reason for losing no time, sir,' replied Mark. 'Whereas,
when you've seen the young lady; and know what state of mind the old
gentleman's in, and all about it; then you'll know what to do next.'
'No doubt,' said Martin. 'You are quite right.'
They were raising their glasses to their lips, when their hands stopped
midway, and their gaze was arrested by a figure which slowly, very
slowly, and reflectively, passed the window at that moment.
Mr Pecksniff. Placid, calm, but proud. Honestly proud. Dressed with
peculiar care, smiling with even more than usual blandness, pondering
on the beauties of his art with a mild abstraction from all sordid
thoughts, and gently travelling across the disc, as if he were a figure
in a magic lantern.
As Mr Pecksniff passed, a person coming in the opposite direction
stopped to look after him with great interest and respect, almost with
veneration; and the landlord bouncing out of the house, as if he had
seen him too, joined this person, and spoke to him, and shook his head
gravely, and looked after Mr Pecksniff likewise.
Martin and Mark sat staring at each other, as if they could not believe
it; but there stood the landlord, and the other man still.
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