The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 397: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

362 REYNOLDS’ WORKS enabled to accept your kind invitation. But as for myself, I say yes with much pleasure.” ‘“‘ And you will be welcome,” said Mrs. Macaulay. “ But pray do bring your dear sister, if she can possibly manage to come.” Christian bade the woman good-bye, and hastened on to the Regent’s Park to see Christina. He had not the least intention of bringing her in contact either with the amiable Mrs. Sifkin, or with Mrs. Dumpling who had bugs in her lodgings, but he had accepted the invitation for himself, not only because he fancied that he might be dull at Marchmont House while the family was away, but also because he had some little curiosity to see how the rival lodging-house keep- ers would get on together. It was about two in the afternoon of the following day that Mr. Redcliffe — enveloped in his cloak as usual, and with his hat more or less slouched over his countenance — walked slowly down that fashionable street in which the adjoining establishments of Madame Angelique and M. Bertin were situated. Having well surveyed the milliner’s premises, or, rather, their exterior, Redcliffe continued his way, and if the thoughts which were passing in his mind were reduced to words, they would have taken some such shape as the following: ‘The establishment seems respectable enough, but yet the fairest exterior often veils the foulest corruptions. There is some deep mystery in connection with that box which is to come next Tuesday night from this house, and I must fathom it. Every incident, however trivial it may appear, is to me of momentous import. Who knows how it may serve as a link in that chain which I am endeavouring to follow up? The link may not for the moment seem to fit, but it must not on this account be discarded. Who can tell but that it will sooner or later find its appropriate place and help me on to the accomplishment of my aim? ” While thus meditating, Clement Redcliffe pursued his way, — at first without perceiving the direction he was taking, and without any specific object in view. But sud- denly he bethought himself of a poor invalid old man whose case had become known to him in his wanderings about the metropolis, and whose last few weeks in this life he was soothing with that quiet, unostentatious benevolence which Gomichbooks (E(0)