answered Wemmick; “he don't mean that you should know what to make of it.

— Oh!” for I looked surprised, “it's not personal; it's professional: only professional.”

Wemmick was at his desk, lunching — and crunching — on a dry hard biscuit; pieces of which he threw from time to time into his slit of a mouth, as if he were posting them.

“Always seems to me,” said Wemmick, “as if he had set a man-trap and was watching it. Suddenly-click — you're caught!”

Without remarking that man-traps were not among the amenities of life, I said I supposed he was very skilful?

“Deep,” said Wemmick, “as Australia.