“Your favourable opinion then, my Precious, does less than justice to Mr. Boffin, and more than justice to me.”
“To the first charge, Alfred, I plead guilty. But to the second, oh no, no!”
“Less than justice to Mr. Boffin, Sophronia,” said Mr. Lammle, soaring into a tone of moral grandeur, “because it represents Mr. Boffin as on my lower level; more than justice to me, Sophronia, because it represents me as on Mr. Boffin’s higher level. Mr. Boffin bears and forbears far more than I could.”
“Far more than you could for yourself, Alfred?”
“My love, that is not the question.”
“Not the question, lawyer?” said Mrs. Lammle, archly.
“No, dear Sophronia. From my lower level, I regard Mr. Boffin as too generous, as possessed of too much clemency, as being too good to persons who are unworthy of him and ungrateful to him. To those noble qualities I can lay no claim. On the contrary, they rouse my indignation when I see them in action.”
“Alfred!”
“They rouse my indignation, my dear, against the unworthy persons, and give me a combative desire to stand between Mr. Boffin and all such persons. Why? Because, in my lower nature I am more worldly and less delicate. Not being so magnanimous as Mr. Boffin, I feel his injuries more than he does himself, and feel more capable of opposing his injurers.”
It struck Mrs. Lammle that it appeared rather difficult this morning to bring Mr. and Mrs. Boffin into agreeable conversation. Here had been