“ Mr. Rokesmith.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Boffin. “Oh indeed! Our and the Wilfers’ Mutual Friend, my dear. Yes. Ask him to come in.”
Mr. Rokesmith appeared.
“Sit down, sir,” said Mr. Boffin, shaking hands with him. “ Mrs. Boffin you’re already acquainted with. Well, sir, I am rather unprepared to see you, for, to tell you the truth, I’ve been so busy with one thing and another, that I’ve not had time to turn your offer over.”
“That’s apology for both of us: for Mr. Boffin, and for me as well,” said the smiling Mrs. Boffin. “But Lor! we can talk it over now; can’t us?”
Mr. Rokesmith bowed, thanked her, and said he hoped so.
“Let me see then,” resumed Mr. Boffin, with his hand to his chin. “It was Secretary that you named; wasn’t it?”
“I said Secretary,” assented Mr. Rokesmith.
“It rather puzzled me at the time,” said Mr. Boffin, “and it rather puzzled me and Mrs. Boffin when we spoke of it afterwards, because (not to make a mystery of our belief) we have always believed a Secretary to be a piece of furniture, mostly of mahogany, lined with green baize or leather, with a lot of little drawers in it. Now, you won’t think I take a liberty when I mention that you certainly ain’t that .”
Certainly not, said Mr. Rokesmith. But he had used the word in the sense of Steward.
“Why, as to Steward, you see,” returned Mr. Boffin, with his hand still to his chin, “the odds are that Mrs. Boffin and me may never go upon the water. Being both bad sailors, we should want a Steward if we did; but there’s generally one provided.”