“The furniture in my rooms is my own.”
“Then we shan’t have to buy any for you. In case you was to think it,” said Mr. Boffin, with a look of peculiar shrewdness, “so honourably independent in you as to make it a relief to your mind, to make that furniture over to me in the light of a set-off against the quarter’s rent, why ease your mind, ease your mind. I don’t ask it, but I won’t stand in your way if you should consider it due to yourself. As to your room, choose any empty room at the top of the house.”
“Any empty room will do for me,” said the Secretary.
“You can take your pick,” said Mr. Boffin, “and it’ll be as good as eight or ten shillings a week added to your income. I won’t deduct for it; I look to you to make it up handsomely by keeping the expenses down. Now, if you’ll show a light, I’ll come to your office-room and dispose of a letter or two.”
On that clear, generous face of Mrs. Boffin’s, Bella had seen such traces of a pang at the heart while this dialogue was being held, that she had not the courage to turn her eyes to it when they were left alone. Feigning to be intent on her embroidery, she sat plying her needle until her busy hand was stopped by Mrs. Boffin’s hand being lightly laid upon it. Yielding to the touch, she felt her hand carried to the good soul’s lips, and felt a tear fall on it.
“Oh, my loved husband!” said Mrs. Boffin. “This is hard to see and hear. But my dear Bella, believe me that in spite of all the change in him, he is the best of men.”
He came back, at the moment when Bella had taken the hand comfortingly between her own.