"What do you suppose," said Mr. Jaggers, bending forward to look at the ground, and then throwing his head back to look at the ceiling,--"what do you suppose you are living at the rate of?"

     "At the rate of, sir?"

     "At," repeated Mr. Jaggers, still looking at the ceiling, "the--rate--of?" And then looked all round the room, and paused with his pocket-handkerchief in his hand, half-way to his nose.

     I had looked into my affairs so often, that I had thoroughly destroyed any slight notion I might ever have had of their bearings. Reluctantly, I confessed myself quite unable to answer the question. This reply seemed agreeable to Mr. Jaggers, who said, "I thought so!" and blew his nose with an air of satisfaction.

     "Now, I have asked you a question, my friend," said Mr. Jaggers. "Have you anything to ask me?"

     "Of course it would be a great relief to me to ask you several questions, sir; but I remember your prohibition."

     "Ask one," said Mr. Jaggers.