“That is the last of Mr. Lammle. Do you think it good?⁠—Warn her father against me. I deserve it, for I have been in the scheme from the first. It is my husband’s scheme, your connection’s, and mine. I tell you this, only to show you the necessity of the poor little foolish affectionate creature’s being befriended and rescued. You will not repeat this to her father. You will spare me so far, and spare my husband. For, though this celebration of today is all a mockery, he is my husband, and we must live.⁠—Do you think it like?”

Twemlow, in a stunned condition, feigns to compare the portrait in his hand with the original looking towards him from his Mephistophelean corner.

“Very well indeed!” are at length the words which Twemlow with great difficulty extracts from himself.