down the room, and recalling her face and figure (of which he had a peculiarly vivid remembrance), discarded all other subjects of reflection and dwelt upon that alone.
At length Tim Linkinwater came back—provokingly cool, and with papers in his hand, and a pen in his mouth, as if nothing had happened.
"Is she quite recovered?" said Nicholas, impetuously.
"Who?" returned Tim Linkinwater.
"Who!" repeated Nicholas. "The young lady."
"What do you make, Mr. Nickleby," said Tim, taking his pen out of his mouth, "what do you make of four hundred and twenty-seven times three thousand two hundred and thirty-eight?"
"Nay," returned Nicholas, "what do you make of my question first? I asked you——"
"About the young lady," said Tim Linkinwater, putting on his spectacles. "To be sure. Yes. Oh! she's very well."
"Very well, is she?" returned Nicholas.
"Very well," replied Mr. Linkinwater, gravely.
"Will she be able to go home to-day?" asked Nicholas.
"She's gone," said Tim.
"Gone!"
"Yes."
"I hope she has not far to go?" said Nicholas, looking earnestly at the other.
"Ay," replied the immoveable Tim, "I hope she hasn't."
Nicholas hazarded one or two further remarks, but it was evident that Tim Linkinwater had his own reasons for evading the subject, and that he was determined to afford no further information respecting the fair unknown, who had awakened so much curiosity in the breast of his young friend. Nothing daunted by this repulse, Nicholas returned to the charge next day, emboldened by the circumstance of Mr. Linkinwater being in a very talkative and communicative mood; but directly he resumed the theme, Tim relapsed into a state of most provoking taciturnity, and from answering in monosyllables, came to returning no answers at all, save such as were to be inferred from several grave nods, and shrugs which only served to whet that appetite for intelligence in Nicholas, which had already attained a most unreasonable height.
Foiled in these attempts, he was fain to content himself with watching for the young lady's next visit, but here again he was disappointed. Day after day passed, and she did not return. He looked eagerly at the superscription of all the notes and letters, but there was not one among them which he could fancy to be in her hand-writing. On two or three occasions he was employed on business which took him to a distance and had formerly been transacted by Tim Linkinwater. Nicholas could not help suspecting that for some reason or other he was sent out of the way on purpose, and that the young lady was there in his absence. Nothing transpired, however, to confirm this suspicion, and Tim could not be entrapped into any confession or admission tending to support it in the smallest degree.
