“What is there to be done with them, Sophronia?”
She cast about in her thoughts again, and he kept his eye upon her as before.
“Of course I have repeatedly thought of the Boffins, Sophronia,” he resumed, after a fruitless silence; “but I have seen my way to nothing. They are well guarded. That infernal Secretary stands between them and—people of merit.”
“If he could be got rid of?” said she, brightening a little, after more casting about.
“Take time, Sophronia,” observed her watchful husband, in a patronizing manner.
“If working him out of the way could be presented in the light of a service to Mr. Boffin?”
“Take time, Sophronia.”
“We have remarked lately, Alfred, that the old man is turning very suspicious and distrustful.”
“Miserly too, my dear; which is far the most unpromising for us. Nevertheless, take time, Sophronia, take time.”
She took time and then said:
“Suppose we should address ourselves to that tendency in him of which we have made ourselves quite sure. Suppose my conscience—”
“And we know what a conscience it is, my soul. Yes?”
“Suppose my conscience should not allow me to keep to myself any longer what that upstart girl told me of the Secretary’s having made a