IN WHICH AN INNOCENT ELOPEMENT OCCURS
The minion of fortune and the worm of the hour, or in less cutting language,
Nicodemus Boffin, Esquire, the Golden Dustman, had become as much at home in his
eminently aristocratic family mansion as he was likely ever to be. He could not
but feel that, like an eminently aristocratic family cheese, it was much too
large for his wants, and bred an infinite amount of parasites; but he was
content to regard this drawback on his property as a sort of perpetual Legacy
Duty. He felt the more resigned to it, forasmuch as Mrs Boffin enjoyed herself
completely, and Miss Bella was delighted.
That young lady was, no doubt, and acquisition to the Boffins. She was far
too pretty to be unattractive anywhere, and far too quick of perception to be
below the tone of her new career. Whether it improved her heart might be a
matter of taste that was open to question; but as touching another matter of
taste, its improvement of her appearance and manner, there could be no question
whatever.
And thus it soon came about that Miss Bella began to set Mrs Boffin right;
and even further, that Miss Bella began to feel ill at ease, and as it were
responsible, when she saw Mrs Boffin going wrong. Not that so sweet a
disposition and so sound a nature could ever go very wrong even among the great
visiting authorities who agreed that the Boffins were 'charmingly vulgar' (which
for certain was not their own case in saying so), but that when she made a slip
on the social ice on which all the children of Podsnappery, with genteel souls
to be saved, are required to skate in circles, or to slide in long rows, she
inevitably tripped Miss Bella up (so that young lady felt), and caused her to
experience great confusion under the glances of the more skilful performers
engaged in those ice-exercises.
At Miss Bella's time of life it was not to be expected that she should
examine herself very closely on the congruity or stability of her position in Mr
Boffin's house. And as she had never been sparing of complaints of her old home
when she had no other to compare it with, so there was no novelty of ingratitude
or disdain in her very much preferring her new one.
'An invaluable man is Rokesmith,' said Mr Boffin, after some two or three
months. 'But I can't quite make him out.'
Neither could Bella, so she found the subject rather interesting.
'He takes more care of my affairs, morning, noon, and night,' said Mr Boffin,
'than fifty other men put together either could or would; and yet he has ways of
his own that are like tying a scaffolding-pole right across the road, and
bringing me up short when I am almost a-walking arm in arm with him.'
'May I ask how so, sir?' inquired Bella.
'Well, my dear,' said Mr Boffin, 'he won't meet any company here, but you.
When we have visitors, I should wish him to have his regular place at the table
like ourselves; but no, he won't take it.'
'If he considers himself above it,' said Miss Bella, with an airy toss of her
head, 'I should leave him alone.'
'It ain't that, my dear,' replied Mr Boffin, thinking it over. 'He don't
consider himself above it.'
'Perhaps he considers himself beneath it,' suggested Bella. 'If so, he ought
to know best.'
'No, my dear; nor it ain't that, neither. No,' repeated Mr Boffin, with a
shake of his head, after again thinking it over; 'Rokesmith's a modest man, but
he don't consider himself beneath it.'
'Then what does he consider, sir?' asked Bella.
'Dashed if I know!' said Mr Boffin. 'It seemed that first as if it was only
Lightwood that he objected to meet. And now it seems to be everybody, except
you.'
Oho! thought Miss Bella. 'In--deed! That's it, is it!' For Mr Mortimer
Lightwood had dined there two or three times, and she had met him elsewhere, and
he had shown her some attention. 'Rather cool in a Secretary--and Pa's
lodger--to make me the subject of his jealousy!'
That Pa's daughter should be so contemptuous of Pa's lodger was odd; but
there were odder anomalies than that in the mind of the spoilt girl: spoilt
first by poverty, and then by wealth. Be it this history's part, however, to
leave them to unravel themselves.
'A little too much, I think,' Miss Bella reflected scornfully, 'to have Pa's
lodger laying claim to me, and keeping eligible people off! A little too much,
indeed, to have the opportunities opened to me by Mr and Mrs Boffin,
appropriated by a mere Secretary and Pa's lodger!'
Yet it was not so very long ago that Bella had been fluttered by the
discovery that this same Secretary and lodger seem to like her. Ah! but the
eminently aristocratic mansion and Mrs Boffin's dressmaker had not come into
play then.
In spite of his seemingly retiring manners a very intrusive person, this
Secretary and lodger, in Miss Bella's opinion. Always a light in his office-room
when we came home from the play or Opera, and he always at the carriage-door to
hand us out. Always a provoking radiance too on Mrs Boffin's face, and an
abominably cheerful reception of him, as if it were possible seriously to
approve what the man had in his mind!
'You never charge me, Miss Wilfer,' said the Secretary, encountering her by
chance alone in the great drawing-room, 'with commissions for home. I shall
always be happy to execute any commands you may have in that direction.'
'Pray what may you mean, Mr Rokesmith?' inquired Miss Bella, with languidly
drooping eyelids.
'By home? I mean your father's house at Holloway.'
She coloured under the retort--so skilfully thrust, that the words seemed to
be merely a plain answer, given in plain good faith--and said, rather more
emphatically and sharply:
'What commissions and commands are you speaking of?'
'Only little words of remembrance as I assume you sent somehow or other,'
replied the Secretary with his former air. 'It would be a pleasure to me if you
would make me the bearer of them. As you know, I come and go between the two
houses every day.'
'You needn't remind me of that, sir.'
She was too quick in this petulant sally against 'Pa's lodger'; and she felt
that she had been so when she met his quiet look.
'They don't send many--what was your expression?--words of remembrance to
me,' said Bella, making haste to take refuge in ill- usage.
'They frequently ask me about you, and I give them such slight intelligence
as I can.'
'I hope it's truly given,' exclaimed Bella.
'I hope you cannot doubt it, for it would be very much against you, if you
could.'
'No, I do not doubt it. I deserve the reproach, which is very just indeed. I
beg your pardon, Mr Rokesmith.'
'I should beg you not to do so, but that it shows you to such admirable
advantage,' he replied with earnestness. 'Forgive me; I could not help saying
that. To return to what I have digressed from, let me add that perhaps they
think I report them to you, deliver little messages, and the like. But I forbear
to trouble you, as you never ask me.'
'I am going, sir,' said Bella, looking at him as if he had reproved her, 'to
see them tomorrow.'
'Is that,' he asked, hesitating, 'said to me, or to them?'
'To which you please.'
'To both? Shall I make it a message?'
'You can if you like, Mr Rokesmith. Message or no message, I am going to see
them tomorrow.'
'Then I will tell them so.'
He lingered a moment, as though to give her the opportunity of prolonging the
conversation if she wished. As she remained silent, he left her. Two incidents
of the little interview were felt by Miss Bella herself, when alone again, to be
very curious. The first was, that he unquestionably left her with a penitent air
upon her, and a penitent feeling in her heart. The second was, that she had not
an intention or a thought of going home, until she had announced it to him as a
settled design.
'What can I mean by it, or what can he mean by it?' was her mental inquiry:
'He has no right to any power over me, and how do I come to mind him when I
don't care for him?'
Mrs Boffin, insisting that Bella should make tomorrow's expedition in the
chariot, she went home in great grandeur. Mrs Wilfer and Miss Lavinia had
speculated much on the probabilities and improbabilities of her coming in this
gorgeous state, and, on beholding the chariot from the window at which they were
secreted to look out for it, agreed that it must be detained at the door as long
as possible, for the mortification and confusion of the neighbours. Then they
repaired to the usual family room, to receive Miss Bella with a becoming show of
indifference.
The family room looked very small and very mean, and the downward staircase
by which it was attained looked very narrow and very crooked. The little house
and all its arrangements were a poor contrast to the eminently aristocratic
dwelling. 'I can hardly believe, thought Bella, that I ever did endure life in
this place!'
Gloomy majesty on the part of Mrs Wilfer, and native pertness on the part of
Lavvy, did not mend the matter. Bella really stood in natural need of a little
help, and she got none.
'This,' said Mrs Wilfer, presenting a cheek to be kissed, as sympathetic and
responsive as the back of the bowl of a spoon, 'is quite an honour! You will
probably find your sister Lavvy grown, Bella.'
'Ma,' Miss Lavinia interposed, 'there can be no objection to your being
aggravating, because Bella richly deserves it; but I really must request that
you will not drag in such ridiculous nonsense as my having grown when I am past
the growing age.'
'I grew, myself,' Mrs Wilfer sternly proclaimed, 'after I was married.'
'Very well, Ma,' returned Lavvy, 'then I think you had much better have left
it alone.'
The lofty glare with which the majestic woman received this answer, might
have embarrassed a less pert opponent, but it had no effect upon Lavinia: who,
leaving her parent to the enjoyment of any amount of glaring at she might deem
desirable under the circumstances, accosted her sister, undismayed.
'I suppose you won't consider yourself quite disgraced, Bella, if I give you
a kiss? Well! And how do you do, Bella? And how are your Boffins?'
'Peace!' exclaimed Mrs Wilfer. 'Hold! I will not suffer this tone of levity.'
'My goodness me! How are your Spoffins, then?' said Lavvy, 'since Ma so very
much objects to your Boffins.'
'Impertinent girl! Minx!' said Mrs wilfer, with dread severity.
'I don't care whether I am a Minx, or a Sphinx,' returned Lavinia, coolly,
tossing her head; 'it's exactly the same thing to me, and I'd every bit as soon
be one as the other; but I know this--I'll not grow after I'm married!'
'You will not? YOU will not?' repeated Mrs Wilfer, solemnly.
'No, Ma, I will not. Nothing shall induce me.'
Mrs Wilfer, having waved her gloves, became loftily pathetic.
'But it was to be expected;' thus she spake. 'A child of mine deserts me for
the proud and prosperous, and another child of mine despises me. It is quite
fitting.'
'Ma,' Bella struck in, 'Mr and Mrs Boffin are prosperous, no doubt; but you
have no right to say they are proud. You must know very well that they are not.'
'In short, Ma,' said Lavvy, bouncing over to the enemy without a word of
notice, you must know very well--or if you don't, more shame for you!--that Mr
and Mrs Boffin are just absolute perfection.'
'Truly,' returned Mrs Wilfer, courteously receiving the deserter, it would
seem that we are required to think so. And this, Lavinia, is my reason for
objecting to a tone of levity. Mrs Boffin (of whose physiognomy I can never
speak with the composure I would desire to preserve), and your mother, are not
on terms of intimacy. It is not for a moment to be supposed that she and her
husband dare to presume to speak of this family as the Wilfers. I cannot
therefore condescend to speak of them as the Boffins. No; for such a tone--call
it familiarity, levity, equality, or what you will-- would imply those social
interchanges which do not exist. Do I render myself intelligible?'
Without taking the least notice of this inquiry, albeit delivered in an
imposing and forensic manner, Lavinia reminded her sister, 'After all, you know,
Bella, you haven't told us how your Whatshisnames are.'
'I don't want to speak of them here,' replied Bella, suppressing indignation,
and tapping her foot on the floor. 'They are much too kind and too good to be
drawn into these discussions.'
'Why put it so?' demanded Mrs Wilfer, with biting sarcasm. 'Why adopt a
circuitous form of speech? It is polite and it is obliging; but why do it? Why
not openly say that they are much too kind and too good for US? We understand
the allusion. Why disguise the phrase?'
'Ma,' said Bella, with one beat of her foot, 'you are enough to drive a saint
mad, and so is Lavvy.'
'Unfortunate Lavvy!' cried Mrs Wilfer, in a tone of commiseration. 'She
always comes for it. My poor child!' But Lavvy, with the suddenness of her
former desertion, now bounced over to the other enemy: very sharply remarking,
'Don't patronize ME, Ma, because I can take care of myself.'
'I only wonder,' resumed Mrs Wilfer, directing her observations to her elder
daughter, as safer on the whole than her utterly unmanageable younger, 'that you
found time and inclination to tear yourself from Mr and Mrs Boffin, and come to
see us at all. I only wonder that our claims, contending against the superior
claims of Mr and Mrs Boffin, had any weight. I feel I ought to be thankful for
gaining so much, in competition with Mr and Mrs Boffin.' (The good lady bitterly
emphasized the first letter of the word Boffin, as if it represented her chief
objection to the owners of that name, and as if she could have born Doffin,
Moffin, or Poffin much better.)
'Ma,' said Bella, angrily, 'you force me to say that I am truly sorry I did
come home, and that I never will come home again, except when poor dear Pa is
here. For, Pa is too magnanimous to feel envy and spite towards my generous
friends, and Pa is delicate enough and gentle enough to remember the sort of
little claim they thought I had upon them and the unusually trying position in
which, through no act of my own, I had been placed. And I always did love poor
dear Pa better than all the rest of you put together, and I always do and I
always shall!'
Here Bella, deriving no comfort from her charming bonnet and her elegant
dress, burst into tears.
'I think, R.W.,' cried Mrs Wilfer, lifting up her eyes and apostrophising the
air, 'that if you were present, it would be a trial to your feelings to hear
your wife and the mother of your family depreciated in your name. But Fate has
spared you this, R.W., whatever it may have thought proper to inflict upon her!'
Here Mrs Wilfer burst into tears.
'I hate the Boffins!' protested Miss Lavinia. I don't care who objects to
their being called the Boffins. I WILL call 'em the Boffins. The Boffins, the
Boffins, the Boffins! And I say they are mischief-making Boffins, and I say the
Boffins have set Bella against me, and I tell the Boffins to their faces:' which
was not strictly the fact, but the young lady was excited: 'that they are
detestable Boffins, disreputable Boffins, odious Boffins, beastly Boffins.
There!'
Here Miss Lavinia burst into tears.
The front garden-gate clanked, and the Secretary was seen coming at a brisk
pace up the steps. 'Leave Me to open the door to him,' said Mrs Wilfer, rising
with stately resignation as she shook her head and dried her eyes; 'we have at
present no stipendiary girl to do so. We have nothing to conceal. If he sees
these traces of emotion on our cheeks, let him construe them as he may.'
With those words she stalked out. In a few moments she stalked in again,
proclaiming in her heraldic manner, 'Mr Rokesmith is the bearer of a packet for
Miss Bella Wilfer.'
Mr Rokesmith followed close upon his name, and of course saw what was amiss.
But he discreetly affected to see nothing, and addressed Miss Bella.
'Mr Boffin intended to have placed this in the carriage for you this morning.
He wished you to have it, as a little keepsake he had prepared--it is only a
purse, Miss Wilfer--but as he was disappointed in his fancy, I volunteered to
come after you with it.'
Bella took it in her hand, and thanked him.
'We have been quarrelling here a little, Mr Rokesmith, but not more than we
used; you know our agreeable ways among ourselves. You find me just going.
Good-bye, mamma. Good- bye, Lavvy!' and with a kiss for each Miss Bella turned
to the door. The Secretary would have attended her, but Mrs Wilfer advancing and
saying with dignity, 'Pardon me! Permit me to assert my natural right to escort
my child to the equipage which is in waiting for her,' he begged pardon and gave
place. It was a very magnificent spectacle indeed, too see Mrs Wilfer throw open
the house-door, and loudly demand with extended gloves, 'The male domestic of
Mrs Boffin!' To whom presenting himself, she delivered the brief but majestic
charge, 'Miss Wilfer. Coming out!' and so delivered her over, like a female
Lieutenant of the Tower relinquishing a State Prisoner. The effect of this
ceremonial was for some quarter of an hour afterwards perfectly paralyzing on
the neighbours, and was much enhanced by the worthy lady airing herself for that
term in a kind of splendidly serene trance on the top step.
When Bella was seated in the carriage, she opened the little packet in her
hand. It contained a pretty purse, and the purse contained a bank note for fifty
pounds. 'This shall be a joyful surprise for poor dear Pa,' said Bella, 'and
I'll take it myself into the City!'
As she was uninformed respecting the exact locality of the place of business
of Chicksey Veneering and Stobbles, but knew it to be near Mincing Lane, she
directed herself to be driven to the corner of that darksome spot. Thence she
despatched 'the male domestic of Mrs Boffin,' in search of the counting-house of
Chicksey Veneering and Stobbles, with a message importing that if R. Wilfer
could come out, there was a lady waiting who would be glad to speak with him.
The delivery of these mysterious words from the mouth of a footman caused so
great an excitement in the counting-house, that a youthful scout was instantly
appointed to follow Rumty, observe the lady, and come in with his report. Nor
was the agitation by any means diminished, when the scout rushed back with the
intelligence that the lady was 'a slap-up gal in a bang-up chariot.'
Rumty himself, with his pen behind his ear under his rusty hat, arrived at
the carriage-door in a breathless condition, and had been fairly lugged into the
vehicle by his cravat and embraced almost unto choking, before he recognized his
daughter. 'My dear child!' he then panted, incoherently. 'Good gracious me! What
a lovely woman you are! I thought you had been unkind and forgotten your mother
and sister.'
'I have just been to see them, Pa dear.'
'Oh! and how--how did you find your mother?' asked R. W., dubiously.
'Very disagreeable, Pa, and so was Lavvy.'
'They are sometimes a little liable to it,' observed the patient cherub; 'but
I hope you made allowances, Bella, my dear?'
'No. I was disagreeable too, Pa; we were all of us disagreeable together. But
I want you to come and dine with me somewhere, Pa.'
'Why, my dear, I have already partaken of a--if one might mention such an
article in this superb chariot--of a--Saveloy,' replied R. Wilfer, modestly
dropping his voice on the word, as he eyed the canary-coloured fittings.
'Oh! That's nothing, Pa!'
'Truly, it ain't as much as one could sometimes wish it to be, my dear,' he
admitted, drawing his hand across his mouth. 'Still, when circumstances over
which you have no control, interpose obstacles between yourself and Small
Germans, you can't do better than bring a contented mind to hear on'--again
dropping his voice in deference to the chariot--'Saveloys!'
'You poor good Pa! Pa, do, I beg and pray, get leave for the rest of the day,
and come and pass it with me!'
'Well, my dear, I'll cut back and ask for leave.'
'But before you cut back,' said Bella, who had already taken him by the chin,
pulled his hat off, and begun to stick up his hair in her old way, 'do say that
you are sure I am giddy and inconsiderate, but have never really slighted you,
Pa.'
'My dear, I say it with all my heart. And might I likewise observe,' her
father delicately hinted, with a glance out at window, 'that perhaps it might he
calculated to attract attention, having one's hair publicly done by a lovely
woman in an elegant turn-out in Fenchurch Street?'
Bella laughed and put on his hat again. But when his boyish figure bobbed
away, its shabbiness and cheerful patience smote the tears out of her eyes. 'I
hate that Secretary for thinking it of me,' she said to herself, 'and yet it
seems half true!'
Back came her father, more like a boy than ever, in his release from school.
'All right, my dear. Leave given at once. Really very handsomely done!'
'Now where can we find some quiet place, Pa, in which I can wait for you
while you go on an errand for me, if I send the carriage away?'
It demanded cogitation. 'You see, my dear,' he explained, 'you really have
become such a very lovely woman, that it ought to he a very quiet place.' At
length he suggested, 'Near the garden up by the Trinity House on Tower Hill.'
So, they were driven there, and Bella dismissed the chariot; sending a pencilled
note by it to Mrs Boffin, that she was with her father.
'Now, Pa, attend to what I am going to say, and promise and vow to be
obedient.'
'I promise and vow, my dear.'
'You ask no questions. You take this purse; you go to the nearest place where
they keep everything of the very very best, ready made; you buy and put on, the
most beautiful suit of clothes, the most beautiful hat, and the most beautiful
pair of bright boots (patent leather, Pa, mind!) that are to be got for money;
and you come back to me.'
'But, my dear Bella--'
'Take care, Pa!' pointing her forefinger at him, merrily. 'You have promised
and vowed. It's perjury, you know.'
There was water in the foolish little fellow's eyes, but she kissed them dry
(though her own were wet), and he bobbed away again. After half an hour, he came
back, so brilliantly transformed, that Bella was obliged to walk round him in
ecstatic admiration twenty times, before she could draw her arm through his, and
delightedly squeeze it.
'Now, Pa,' said Bella, hugging him close, 'take this lovely woman out to
dinner.'
'Where shall we go, my dear?'
'Greenwich!' said Bella, valiantly. 'And be sure you treat this lovely woman
with everything of the best.'
While they were going along to take boat, 'Don't you wish, my dear,' said R.
W., timidly, 'that your mother was here?'
'No, I don't, Pa, for I like to have you all to myself to-day. I was always
your little favourite at home, and you were always mine. We have run away
together often, before now; haven't we, Pa?'
'Ah, to be sure we have! Many a Sunday when your mother was-- was a little
liable to it,' repeating his former delicate expression after pausing to cough.
'Yes, and I am afraid I was seldom or never as good as I ought to have been,
Pa. I made you carry me, over and over again, when you should have made me walk;
and I often drove you in harness, when you would much rather have sat down and
read your news- paper: didn't I?'
'Sometimes, sometimes. But Lor, what a child you were! What a companion you
were!'
'Companion? That's just what I want to be to-day, Pa.'
'You are safe to succeed, my love. Your brothers and sisters have all in
their turns been companions to me, to a certain extent, but only to a certain
extent. Your mother has, throughout life, been a companion that any man
might--might look up to--and--and commit the sayings of, to memory--and--form
himself upon--if he--'
'If he liked the model?' suggested Bella.
'We-ell, ye-es,' he returned, thinking about it, not quite satisfied with the
phrase: 'or perhaps I might say, if it was in him. Supposing, for instance, that
a man wanted to be always marching, he would find your mother an inestimable
companion. But if he had any taste for walking, or should wish at any time to
break into a trot, he might sometimes find it a little difficult to keep step
with your mother. Or take it this way, Bella,' he added, after a moment's
reflection; 'Supposing that a man had to go through life, we won't say with a
companion, but we'll say to a tune. Very good. Supposing that the tune allotted
to him was the Dead March in Saul. Well. It would be a very suitable tune for
particular occasions--none better--but it would be difficult to keep time with
in the ordinary run of domestic transactions. For instance, if he took his
supper after a hard day, to the Dead March in Saul, his food might be likely to
sit heavy on him. Or, if he was at any time inclined to relieve his mind by
singing a comic song or dancing a hornpipe, and was obliged to do it to the Dead
March in Saul, he might find himself put out in the execution of his lively
intentions.'
'Poor Pa!' thought Bella, as she hung upon his arm.
'Now, what I will say for you, my dear,' the cherub pursued mildly and
without a notion of complaining, 'is, that you are so adaptable. So adaptable.'
'Indeed I am afraid I have shown a wretched temper, Pa. I am afraid I have
been very complaining, and very capricious. I seldom or never thought of it
before. But when I sat in the carriage just now and saw you coming along the
pavement, I reproached myself.'
'Not at all, my dear. Don't speak of such a thing.'
A happy and a chatty man was Pa in his new clothes that day. Take it for all
in all, it was perhaps the happiest day he had ever known in his life; not even
excepting that on which his heroic partner had approached the nuptial altar to
the tune of the Dead March in Saul.
The little expedition down the river was delightful, and the little room
overlooking the river into which they were shown for dinner was delightful.
Everything was delightful. The park was delightful, the punch was delightful,
the dishes of fish were delightful, the wine was delightful. Bella was more
delightful than any other item in the festival; drawing Pa out in the gayest
manner; making a point of always mentioning herself as the lovely woman;
stimulating Pa to order things, by declaring that the lovely woman insisted on
being treated with them; and in short causing Pa to be quite enraptured with the
consideration that he WAS the Pa of such a charming daughter.
And then, as they sat looking at the ships and steamboats making their way to
the sea with the tide that was running down, the lovely woman imagined all sorts
of voyages for herself and Pa. Now, Pa, in the character of owner of a lumbering
square-sailed collier, was tacking away to Newcastle, to fetch black diamonds to
make his fortune with; now, Pa was going to China in that handsome threemasted
ship, to bring home opium, with which he would for ever cut out Chicksey
Veneering and Stobbles, and to bring home silks and shawls without end for the
decoration of his charming daughter. Now, John Harmon's disastrous fate was all
a dream, and he had come home and found the lovely woman just the article for
him, and the lovely woman had found him just the article for her, and they were
going away on a trip, in their gallant bark, to look after their vines, with
streamers flying at all points, a band playing on deck and Pa established in the
great cabin. Now, John Harmon was consigned to his grave again, and a merchant
of immense wealth (name unknown) had courted and married the lovely woman, and
he was so enormously rich that everything you saw upon the river sailing or
steaming belonged to him, and he kept a perfect fleet of yachts for pleasure,
and that little impudent yacht which you saw over there, with the great white
sail, was called The Bella, in honour of his wife, and she held her state aboard
when it pleased her, like a modern Cleopatra. Anon, there would embark in that
troop-ship when she got to Gravesend, a mighty general, of large property (name
also unknown), who wouldn't hear of going to victory without his wife, and whose
wife was the lovely woman, and she was destined to become the idol of all the
red coats and blue jackets alow and aloft. And then again: you saw that ship
being towed out by a steam-tug? Well! where did you suppose she was going to?
She was going among the coral reefs and cocoa-nuts and all that sort of thing,
and she was chartered for a fortunate individual of the name of Pa (himself on
board, and much respected by all hands), and she was going, for his sole profit
and advantage, to fetch a cargo of sweet-smelling woods, the most beautiful that
ever were seen, and the most profitable that ever were heard of; and her cargo
would be a great fortune, as indeed it ought to be: the lovely woman who had
purchased her and fitted her expressly for this voyage, being married to an
Indian Prince, who was a Something-or-Other, and who wore Cashmere shawls all
over himself and diamonds and emeralds blazing in his turban, and was
beautifully coffee- coloured and excessively devoted, though a little too
jealous. Thus Bella ran on merrily, in a manner perfectly enchanting to Pa, who
was as willing to put his head into the Sultan's tub of water as the beggar-boys
below the window were to put THEIR heads in the mud.
'I suppose, my dear,' said Pa after dinner, 'we may come to the conclusion at
home, that we have lost you for good?'
Bella shook her head. Didn't know. Couldn't say. All she was able to report
was, that she was most handsomely supplied with everything she could possibly
want, and that whenever she hinted at leaving Mr and Mrs Boffin, they wouldn't
hear of it.
'And now, Pa,' pursued Bella, 'I'll make a confession to you. I am the most
mercenary little wretch that ever lived in the world.'
'I should hardly have thought it of you, my dear,' returned her father, first
glancing at himself; and then at the dessert.
'I understand what you mean, Pa, but it's not that. It's not that I care for
money to keep as money, but I do care so much for what it will buy!'
'Really I think most of us do,' returned R. W.
'But not to the dreadful extent that I do, Pa. O-o!' cried Bella, screwing
the exclamation out of herself with a twist of her dimpled chin. 'I AM so
mercenary!'
With a wistful glance R. W. said, in default of having anything better to
say: 'About when did you begin to feel it coming on, my dear?'
'That's it, Pa. That's the terrible part of it. When I was at home, and only
knew what it was to be poor, I grumbled but didn't so much mind. When I was at
home expecting to be rich, I thought vaguely of all the great things I would do.
But when I had been disappointed of my splendid fortune, and came to see it from
day to day in other hands, and to have before my eyes what it could really do,
then I became the mercenary little wretch I am.'
'It's your fancy, my dear.'
'I can assure you it's nothing of the sort, Pa!' said Bella, nodding at him,
with her very pretty eyebrows raised as high as they would go, and looking
comically frightened. 'It's a fact. I am always avariciously scheming.'
'Lor! But how?'
'I'll tell you, Pa. I don't mind telling YOU, because we have always been
favourites of each other's, and because you are not like a Pa, but more like a
sort of a younger brother with a dear venerable chubbiness on him. And besides,'
added Bella, laughing as she pointed a rallying finger at his face, 'because I
have got you in my power. This is a secret expedition. If ever you tell of me,
I'll tell of you. I'll tell Ma that you dined at Greenwich.'
'Well; seriously, my dear,' observed R. W., with some trepidation of manner,
'it might be as well not to mention it.'
'Aha!' laughed Bella. 'I knew you wouldn't like it, sir! So you keep my
confidence, and I'll keep yours. But betray the lovely woman, and you shall find
her a serpent. Now, you may give me a kiss, Pa, and I should like to give your
hair a turn, because it has been dreadfully neglected in my absence.'
R. W. submitted his head to the operator, and the operator went on talking;
at the same time putting separate locks of his hair through a curious process of
being smartly rolled over her two revolving forefingers, which were then
suddenly pulled out of it in opposite lateral directions. On each of these
occasions the patient winced and winked.
'I have made up my mind that I must have money, Pa. I feel that I can't beg
it, borrow it, or steal it; and so I have resolved that I must marry it.'
R. W. cast up his eyes towards her, as well as he could under the operating
circumstances, and said in a tone of remonstrance, 'My de-ar Bella!'
'Have resolved, I say, Pa, that to get money I must marry money. In
consequence of which, I am always looking out for money to captivate.'
'My de-a-r Bella!'
'Yes, Pa, that is the state of the case. If ever there was a mercenary
plotter whose thoughts and designs were always in her mean occupation, I am the
amiable creature. But I don't care. I hate and detest being poor, and I won't be
poor if I can marry money. Now you are deliciously fluffy, Pa, and in a state to
astonish the waiter and pay the bill.'
'But, my dear Bella, this is quite alarming at your age.'
'I told you so, Pa, but you wouldn't believe it,' returned Bella, with a
pleasant childish gravity. 'Isn't it shocking?'
'It would be quite so, if you fully knew what you said, my dear, or meant
it.'
'Well, Pa, I can only tell you that I mean nothing else. Talk to me of love!'
said Bella, contemptuously: though her face and figure certainly rendered the
subject no incongruous one. 'Talk to me of fiery dragons! But talk to me of
poverty and wealth, and there indeed we touch upon realities.'
'My De-ar, this is becoming Awful--' her father was emphatically beginning:
when she stopped him.
'Pa, tell me. Did you marry money?'
'You know I didn't, my dear.'
Bella hummed the Dead March in Saul, and said, after all it signified very
little! But seeing him look grave and downcast, she took him round the neck and
kissed him back to cheerfulness again.
'I didn't mean that last touch, Pa; it was only said in joke. Now mind! You
are not to tell of me, and I'll not tell of you. And more than that; I promise
to have no secrets from you, Pa, and you may make certain that, whatever
mercenary things go on, I shall always tell you all about them in strict
confidence.'
Fain to be satisfied with this concession from the lovely woman, R. W. rang
the bell, and paid the bill. 'Now, all the rest of this, Pa,' said Bella,
rolling up the purse when they were alone again, hammering it small with her
little fist on the table, and cramming it into one of the pockets of his new
waistcoat, 'is for you, to buy presents with for them at home, and to pay bills
with, and to divide as you like, and spend exactly as you think proper. Last of
all take notice, Pa, that it's not the fruit of any avaricious scheme. Perhaps
if it was, your little mercenary wretch of a daughter wouldn't make so free with
it!'
After which, she tugged at his coat with both hands, and pulled him all askew
in buttoning that garment over the precious waistcoat pocket, and then tied her
dimples into her bonnet-strings in a very knowing way, and took him back to
London. Arrived at Mr Boffin's door, she set him with his back against it,
tenderly took him by the ears as convenient handles for her purpose, and kissed
him until he knocked muffled double knocks at the door with the back of his
head. That done, she once more reminded him of their compact and gaily parted
from him.
Not so gaily, however, but that tears filled her eyes as he went away down
the dark street. Not so gaily, but that she several times said, 'Ah, poor little
Pa! Ah, poor dear struggling shabby little Pa!' before she took heart to knock
at the door. Not so gaily, but that the brilliant furniture seemed to stare her
out of countenance as if it insisted on being compared with the dingy furniture
at home. Not so gaily, but that she fell into very low spirits sitting late in
her own room, and very heartily wept, as she wished, now that the deceased old
John Harmon had never made a will about her, now that the deceased young John
Harmon had lived to marry her. 'Contradictory things to wish,' said Bella, 'but
my life and fortunes are so contradictory altogether that what can I expect
myself to be!'
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