“My feeling for Miss Wilfer,” pursued the Secretary, without deigning to notice him, “is not one to be ashamed of. I avow it. I love her. Let me go where I may when I presently leave this house, I shall go into a blank life, leaving her.”

“Leaving £ s.d. behind me,” said Mr. Boffin, by way of commentary, with another wink.

“That I am incapable,” the Secretary went on, still without heeding him, “of a mercenary project, or a mercenary thought, in connexion with Miss Wilfer, is nothing meritorious in me, because any prize that I could put before my fancy would sink into insignificance beside her. If the greatest wealth or the highest rank were hers, it would only be important in my sight as removing her still farther from me, and making me more hopeless, if that could be. Say,” remarked the Secretary, looking full at his late master, “say that with a word she could strip Mr. Boffin of his fortune and take possession of it, she would be of no greater worth in my eyes than she is.”

“What do you think by this time, old lady,” asked Mr. Boffin, turning to his wife in a bantering tone, “about this Rokesmith here, and his caring for the truth? You needn’t say what you think, my dear, because I don’t want you to cut in, but you can think it all the same. As to taking possession of my property, I warrant you he wouldn’t do that himself if he could.”

“No,” returned the Secretary, with another full look.

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Boffin. “There’s nothing like a good ’un while you are about it.”

“I have been for a moment,” said the Secretary, turning from him and falling into his former manner, “diverted from the little I have to say. My interest in Miss Wilfer began when I first saw her; even began when I had only heard of her. It was, in fact, the cause of my throwing myself in Mr. Boffin’s way, and entering his service. Miss Wilfer has never known this until now. I mention it now, only as a corroboration (though I hope it may be needless) of my being free from the sordid design attributed to me.”

“Now, this is a very artful dog,” said Mr. Boffin, with a deep look. “This is a longer-headed schemer than I thought him. See how patiently and methodically he goes to work. He gets to know about me and my property, and about this young lady, and her share in poor young John’s story, and he puts this and that together, and he says to himself, ‘I’ll get in with Boffin, and I’ll get in with this young lady, and I’ll work ’em both at the same time, and I’ll bring my pigs to market somewhere.’ I hear him say it, bless you! Why, I look at him, now, and I see him say it!”

Mr. Boffin pointed at the culprit, as it were in the act, and hugged himself in his great penetration.

“But luckily he hadn’t to deal with the people he supposed, Bella, my dear!” said Mr. Boffin. “No! Luckily he had to deal with you, and with me, and with Daniel and Miss Dancer, and with Elwes, and with Vulture Hopkins, and with Blewbury Jones and all the rest of us, one down t’other come on. And he’s beat; that’s what he is; regularly beat. He thought to squeeze money out of us, and he has done for himself instead, Bella my dear!”

Bella my dear made no response, gave no sign of acquiescence. When she had first covered her face she had sunk upon a chair with her hands resting on the back of it, and had never moved since. There was a short silence at this point, and Mrs. Boffin softly rose as if to go to her. But, Mr. Boffin stopped her with a gesture, and she obediently sat down again and stayed where she was.

“There’s your pay, Mister Rokesmith,” said the Golden Dustman, jerking the folded scrap of paper he had in his hand, towards his late Secretary. “I dare say you can stoop to pick it up, after what you have stooped to here.”

“I have stooped to nothing but this,” Rokesmith answered as he took it from the ground; “and this is mine, for I have earned it by the hardest of hard labour.”