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.”