“And I tell you, my deary,” said Mrs. Boffin, “that if you don’t close with Mr. Rokesmith now at once, and if you ever go a muddling yourself again with things never meant nor made for you, you’ll have an apoplexy—besides iron-moulding your linen—and you’ll break my heart.”
Mr. Boffin embraced his spouse for these words of wisdom, and then, congratulating John Rokesmith on the brilliancy of his achievements, gave him his hand in pledge of their new relations. So did Mrs. Boffin.
“Now,” said Mr. Boffin, who, in his frankness, felt that it did not become him to have a gentleman in his employment five minutes, without reposing some confidence in him, “you must be let a little more into our affairs, Rokesmith. I mentioned to you, when I made your acquaintance, or I might better say when you made mine, that Mrs. Boffin’s inclinations was setting in the way of Fashion, but that I didn’t know how fashionable we might or might not grow. Well! Mrs. Boffin has carried the day, and we’re going in neck and crop for Fashion.”
“I rather inferred that, sir,” replied John Rokesmith, “from the scale on which your new establishment is to be maintained.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Boffin, “it’s to be a spanker. The fact is, my literary man named to me that a house with which he is, as I may say, connected—in which he has an interest—”
“As property?” inquired John Rokesmith.
“Why no,” said Mr. Boffin, “not exactly that; a sort of a family tie.”
“Association?” the Secretary suggested.