“Much obliged. But I asked Mrs. Lammle if she was.”
She stood sketching on the tablecloth, with her face clouded and set, and was silent.
“Because,” said Alfred, “I am disposed to be sentimental myself, on your appropriation of the jewels and the money, Mr. Boffin. As our little Georgiana said, three five-pound notes are better than nothing, and if you sell a necklace you can buy things with the produce.”
“If you sell it,” was Mr. Boffin’s comment, as he put it in his pocket.
Alfred followed it with his looks, and also greedily pursued the notes until they vanished into Mr. Boffin’s waistcoat pocket. Then he directed a look, half exasperated and half jeering, at his wife. She still stood sketching; but, as she sketched, there was a struggle within her, which found expression in the depth of the few last lines the parasol point indented into the tablecloth, and then some tears fell from her eyes.
“Why, confound the woman,” exclaimed Lammle, “she is sentimental!”
She walked to the window, flinching under his angry stare, looked out for a moment, and turned round quite coldly.
“You have had no former cause of complaint on the sentimental score, Alfred, and you will have none in future. It is not worth your noticing. We go abroad soon, with the money we have earned here?”
“You know we do; you know we must.”
“There is no fear of my taking any sentiment with me. I should soon be eased of it, if I did. But it will be all left behind. It is all left behind. Are you ready, Alfred?”
“What the deuce have I been waiting for but you, Sophronia?”
“Let us go then. I am sorry I have delayed our dignified departure.”
She passed out and he followed her. Mr. and Mrs. Boffin had the curiosity softly to raise a window and look after them as they went down the long street. They walked arm-in-arm, showily enough, but without appearing to interchange a syllable. It might have been fanciful to suppose that under their outer bearing there was something of the shamed air of two cheats who were linked together by concealed handcuffs; but, not so, to suppose that they were haggardly weary of one another, of themselves, and of all this world. In turning the street corner they might have turned out of this world, for anything Mr. and Mrs. Boffin ever saw of them to the contrary; for, they set eyes on the Lammles never more.
III
The Golden Dustman Sinks Again
The evening of that day being one of the reading evenings at the Bower, Mr. Boffin kissed Mrs. Boffin after a five o’clock dinner, and trotted out, nursing his big stick in both arms, so that, as of old, it seemed to be whispering in his ear. He carried so very attentive an expression on his countenance that it appeared as if the confidential discourse of the big stick required to be followed closely. Mr. Boffin’s face was like the face of a thoughtful listener to an intricate communication, and, in trotting along, he occasionally glanced at that companion with the look of a man who was interposing the remark: “You don’t mean it!”
Mr. Boffin and his stick went on alone together, until they arrived at certain crossways where they would be likely to fall in with anyone coming, at about the same time, from Clerkenwell to the Bower. Here they stopped, and Mr. Boffin consulted his watch.
“It wants five minutes, good, to Venus’s appointment,” said he. “I’m rather early.”
But Venus was a punctual man, and, even as Mr. Boffin replaced his watch in its pocket, was to be descried coming towards him. He quickened his pace on seeing Mr. Boffin already at the place of meeting, and was soon at his side.
“Thank’ee, Venus,” said Mr. Boffin. “Thank’ee, thank’ee, thank’ee!”
It would not have been very evident why he thanked the anatomist, but for his furnishing the explanation in what he went on to say.
“All right, Venus, all right. Now, that you’ve been to see me, and have consented to keep up the appearance before Wegg of remaining in it for a time, I have got a sort of a backer. All right, Venus. Thank’ee, Venus. Thank’ee, thank’ee, thank’ee!”
Mr. Venus shook the proffered hand with a modest air, and they pursued the direction of the Bower.
“Do you think Wegg is likely to drop down upon me tonight, Venus?” inquired Mr. Boffin, wistfully, as they went along.
“I think he is, sir.”
“Have you any particular reason for thinking so, Venus?”
“Well, sir,” returned that personage, “the fact is, he has given me another look-in, to make sure of what he calls our stock-in-trade being correct, and he has mentioned his intention that he was not to be put off beginning with you the very next time you should come. And this,” hinted Mr. Venus, delicately, “being the very next time, you know, sir—”
—“Why, therefore you suppose he’ll turn to at the grindstone, eh, Wegg?” said Mr. Boffin.
“Just so, sir.”
Mr. Boffin took his nose in his hand, as if it were already excoriated, and the sparks were beginning to fly out of that feature. “He’s a terrible fellow, Venus; he’s an awful fellow. I don’t know how ever I shall go through with it. You must stand by me, Venus like a good man and true. You’ll do all you can to stand by me, Venus; won’t you?”
Mr. Venus replied with the assurance that he would; and Mr. Boffin, looking anxious and dispirited, pursued the way in silence until they rang at the Bower gate. The stumping approach of Wegg was soon heard behind it, and as it turned upon its hinges he became visible with his hand on the lock.
“Mr. Boffin, sir?” he remarked. “You’re quite a stranger!”
“Yes. I’ve been otherwise occupied, Wegg.”
“Have you indeed, sir?” returned the literary gentleman, with a threatening sneer. “Hah! I’ve been looking for you, sir, rather what I may call specially.”
“You don’t say so, Wegg?”
“Yes,
