Bella broke from her at length, and was going weeping out of the room, when in her own little queer affectionate way, she half relented towards Mr. Boffin.
“I am very glad,” sobbed Bella, “that I called you names, sir, because you richly deserved it. But I am very sorry that I called you names, because you used to be so different. Say goodbye!”
“Goodbye,” said Mr. Boffin, shortly.
“If I knew which of your hands was the least spoilt, I would ask you to let me touch it,” said Bella, “for the last time. But not because I repent of what I have said to you. For I don’t. It’s true!”
“Try the left hand,” said Mr. Boffin, holding it out in a stolid manner; “it’s the least used.”
“You have been wonderfully good and kind to me,” said Bella, “and I kiss it for that. You have been as bad as bad could be to Mr. Rokesmith, and I throw it away for that. Thank you for myself, and goodbye!”
“Goodbye,” said Mr. Boffin as before.
Bella caught him round the neck and kissed him, and ran out forever.
She ran upstairs, and sat down on the floor in her own room, and cried abundantly. But the day was declining and she had no time to lose. She opened all the places where she kept her dresses; selected only those she had brought with her, leaving all the rest; and made a great misshapen bundle of them, to be sent for afterwards.
“I won’t take one of the others,” said Bella, tying the knots of the bundle very tight, in the severity of her resolution. “I’ll leave all the