How well he remembered the sharp jangling sound of the bell! and how intensely he had hated it and all the surroundings of his father's sordid life in the days when he was pursuing his headlong career as a fine gentleman, and only coming to Queen Anne's Court for money! He remembered what an incubus the shop had been upon him; what a pursuing phantom and perpetual image of his degradation in the days of his University life, when he was incessantly haunted by the dread that his father's social status would be discovered.

The atmosphere of the place brought back all the old feelings, and he was young again, a nervous supplicant for money, which was likely to be refused to him.
The sharp peal of the bell produced Mr.Luke Tulliver, who emerged from a little den in a corner at the back of the shop, where he had been engaged copying items into a stock-book by the light of a solitary tallow-candle.
The stranger looked like a customer, and Mr.Tulliver received him graciously, turning up the gas over the counter, which had been burning at a diminished and economical rate hitherto.
"Did you wish to look at anything in antique silver, sir ?" he asked briskly.

"We have some very handsome specimens of the Queen Anne period." "No, I don't want to look at anything.

I want to know whether Jacob Nowell is still living ?" "Yes, sir.

Mr.Nowell is my master.