spiritual and bodily; the former expressed in a very gloomy visage, the latter in extended arms. However, a general description of the toy-wonders lurking in Mrs Boffin’s house, so far conciliated this worldly- minded orphan as to induce him to stare at her frowningly, with a fist in his mouth, and even at length to chuckle when a richly-caparisoned horse on wheels, with a miraculous gift of cantering to cake-shops, was mentioned. This sound being taken up by the Minders, swelled into a rapturous trio which gave general satisfaction.
So, the interview was considered very successful, and Mrs Boffin was pleased, and all were satisfied. Not least of all, Sloppy, who undertook to conduct the visitors back by the best way to the Three Magpies, and whom the hammer-headed young man much despised.
This piece of business thus put in train, the Secretary drove Mrs Boffin back to the Bower, and found employment for himself at the new house until evening. Whether, when evening came, he took a way to his lodgings that led through fields, with any design of finding Miss Bella Wilfer in those fields, is not so certain as that she regularly walked there at that hour.
And, moreover, it is certain that there she was.
No longer in mourning, Miss Bella was dressed in as pretty colours as she could muster. There is no denying that she was as pretty as they, and that she and the colours went very prettily together. She was reading as she walked, and of course it is to be inferred, from her showing no knowledge of Mr Rokesmith’s approach, that she did not know he was approaching.
“Eh?” said Miss Bella, raising her eyes from her book, when he stopped before her. “Oh! It’s you.”
“Only I. A fine evening!”
“Is it?” said Bella, looking coldly round. “I suppose it is, now you mention it. I have not been thinking of the evening.”
“So intent upon your book?”
“Ye-e-es,” replied Bella, with a drawl of indifference.
“A love story, Miss Wilfer?”
“Oh dear no, or I shouldn’t be reading it. It’s more about money than anything else.”
“And does it say that money is better than anything?”
“Upon my word,” returned Bella, “I forget what it says, but you can find out for yourself if you like, Mr Rokesmith. I don’t want it any more.”
The Secretary took the book — she had fluttered the leaves as if it were a fan — and walked beside her.
“I am charged with a message for you, Miss Wilfer.”
“Impossible, I think!” said Bella, with another drawl.
“From Mrs Boffin. She desired me to assure you of the pleasure she has in finding that she will be ready to receive you in another week or two at furthest.”
Bella turned her head towards him, with her prettily-insolent eyebrows raised, and her eyelids drooping. As much as to say, “How did you come by the message, pray?”