said Steerforth.

‘Pays, as he speaks, my dear child — through the nose,’ replied Miss Mowcher. ‘None of your close shavers the Prince ain’t. You’d say so, if you saw his moustachios. Red by nature, black by art.’

‘By your art, of course,’ said Steerforth.

Miss Mowcher winked assent. ‘Forced to send for me. Couldn’t help it. The climate affected his dye; it did very well in Russia, but it was no go here. You never saw such a rusty Prince in all your born days as he was. Like old iron!’ ‘Is that why you called him a humbug, just now?’ inquired Steerforth.

‘Oh, you’re a broth of a boy, ain’t you?’ returned Miss Mowcher, shaking her head violently.