Page 288 - bleak-house

fire, a model of deportment.
‘And he never does anything else,’ said the old lady of the
censorious countenance. ‘Yet would you believe that it’s HIS
name on the door-plate?’
‘His son’s name is the same, you know,’ said I.
‘He wouldn’t let his son have any name if he could take
it from him,’ returned the old lady. ‘Look at the son’s dress!’
It certainly was plain—threadbare—almost shabby. ‘Yet the
father must be garnished and tricked out,’ said the old lady,
‘because of his deportment. I’d deport him! Transport him
would be better!’
I felt curious to know more concerning this person. I
asked, ‘Does he give lessons in deportment now?’
‘Now!’ returned the old lady shortly. ‘Never did.’
After a moment’s consideration, I suggested that perhaps
fencing had been his accomplishment.
‘I don’t believe he can fence at all, ma’am,’ said the old
lady.
I looked surprised and inquisitive. The old lady, be-
coming more and more incensed against the master of
deportment as she dwelt upon the subject, gave me some
particulars of his career, with strong assurances that they
were mildly stated.
He had married a meek little dancing-mistress, with a
tolerable connexion (having never in his life before done
anything but deport himself), and had worked her to death,
or had, at the best, suffered her to work herself to death, to
maintain him in those expenses which were indispensable
to his position. At once to exhibit his deportment to the best

288 Bleak House