“Not to me,” said Mrs. Lammle, with deep feeling.
“Oh, indeed?” said Fledgeby.
“Not to me, dear Mr. Fledgeby. I am his wife.”
“Yes. I—I always understood so,” said Mr. Fledgeby.
“And as the wife of Alfred, may I, dear Mr. Fledgeby, wholly without his authority or knowledge, as I am sure your discernment will perceive, entreat you to continue that great service, and once more use your well-earned influence with Mr. Riah for a little more indulgence? The name I have heard Alfred mention, tossing in his dreams, is Riah; is it not?”
“The name of the creditor is Riah,” said Mr. Fledgeby, with a rather uncompromising accent on his noun-substantive. “Saint Mary Axe. Pubsey and Co. ”
“Oh yes!” exclaimed Mrs. Lammle, clasping her hands with a certain gushing wildness. “Pubsey and Co. !”
“The pleading of the feminine—” Mr. Fledgeby began, and there stuck so long for a word to get on with, that Mrs. Lammle offered him sweetly, “Heart?”
“No,” said Mr. Fledgeby, “Gender—is ever what a man is bound to listen to, and I wish it rested with myself. But this Riah is a nasty one, Mrs. Lammle; he really is.”
“Not if you speak to him, dear Mr. Fledgeby.”
“Upon my soul and body he is!” said Fledgeby.
“Try. Try once more, dearest Mr. Fledgeby. What is there you cannot do, if you will!”