It was a cunning and suspicious idea, quite in the
way of his school of Misers, and he looked very cunning
and suspicious as he went jogging through the streets.
More than once or twice, more than twice or thrice,
say half a dozen times, he took his stick from the
arm on which he nursed it, and hit a straight sharp
rap at the air with its head. Possibly the wooden
countenance of Mr Silas Wegg was incorporeally before
him at those moments, for he hit with intense satisfaction.
He was within a few streets of his own house, when
a little private carriage, coming in the contrary
direction, passed him, turned round, and passed him
again. It was a little carriage of eccentric movement,
for again he heard it stop behind him and turn round,
and again he saw it pass him. Then it stopped,
and then went on, out of sight. But, not far
out of sight, for, when he came to the corner of his
own street, there it stood again.
There was a lady’s face at the window as he
came up with this carriage, and he was passing it
when the lady softly called to him by his name.
‘I beg your pardon, Ma’am?’ said
Mr Boffin, coming to a stop.
‘It is Mrs Lammle,’ said the lady.
Mr Boffin went up to the window, and hoped Mrs Lammle
was well.
’Not very well, dear Mr Boffin; I have fluttered
myself by being—perhaps foolishly—uneasy
and anxious. I have been waiting for you some
time. Can I speak to you?’
Mr Boffin proposed that Mrs Lammle should drive on
to his house, a few hundred yards further.
’I would rather not, Mr Boffin, unless you particularly
wish it. I feel the difficulty and delicacy of
the matter so much that I would rather avoid speaking
to you at your own home. You must think this very
strange?’
Mr Boffin said no, but meant yes.
’It is because I am so grateful for the good
opinion of all my friends, and am so touched by it,
that I cannot bear to run the risk of forfeiting it
in any case, even in the cause of duty. I have
asked my husband (my dear Alfred, Mr Boffin) whether
it is the cause of duty, and he has most emphatically
said Yes. I wish I had asked him sooner.
It would have spared me much distress.’
(’Can this be more dropping down upon me!’
thought Mr Boffin, quite bewildered.)
’It was Alfred who sent me to you, Mr Boffin.
Alfred said, “Don’t come back, Sophronia,
until you have seen Mr Boffin, and told him all.
Whatever he may think of it, he ought certainly to
know it.” Would you mind coming into the
carriage?’
Mr Boffin answered, ‘Not at all,’ and
took his seat at Mrs Lammle’s side.
‘Drive slowly anywhere,’ Mrs Lammle called
to her coachman, ’and don’t let the carriage
rattle.’
‘It must be more dropping down, I think,’
said Mr Boffin to himself. ‘What next?’
THE GOLDEN DUSTMAN AT HIS WORST
