`It's an amusement of the vulgar,' said old Martin, `certainly.'
`Of the very vulgar,' Mr. Pecksniff answered. `Then why not bring Miss Graham here, sir? Here is the house. Here am I alone in it, for Thomas Pinch I do not count as any one. Our lovely friend shall occupy my daughter's chamber! you shall choose your own; we shall not quarrel, I hope!'
`We are not likely to do that,' said Martin.
Mr. Pecksniff pressed his hand. `We understand each other, my dear sir, I see!--I can wind him,' he thought, with exultation, `round my little finger.'
`You leave the recompense to me?' said the old man, after a minute's silence.
`Oh! do not speak of recompense!' cried Pecksniff.
`I say,' repeated Martin, with a glimmer of his old obstinacy, `you leave the recompense to me. Do you?'
`Since you desire it, my good sir.'
`I always desire it,' said the old man. `You know I always desire it. I wish to pay as I go, even when I buy of you. Not that I do not leave a balance to be settled one day, Pecksniff.'
The architect was too much overcome to speak. He tried to drop a tear upon his patron's hand, but couldn't find one in his dry distillery.
`May that day be very distant!' was his pious exclamation. `Ah, sir! If I could say how deep an interest I have in you and yours! I allude to our beautiful young friend.'
`True,' he answered. `True. She need have some one interested in her. I did her wrong to train her as I did. Orphan though she was, she would have found some one to protect her whom she might have loved again. When she was a child, I pleased myself with the thought that in gratifying my whim of placing her between me and false-hearted knaves, I had done her a kindness. Now she is a woman, I have no such comfort. She has no protector but herself. I have put her at such odds with the world, that any dog may bark or fawn upon her at his pleasure. Indeed she stands in need of delicate consideration. Yes; indeed she does!'
`If her position could be altered and defined, sir?' Mr. Pecksniff hinted.
`How can that be done? Should I make a seamstress of her, or a governess?'
`Heaven forbid!' said Mr. Pecksniff. `My dear sir, there are other ways. There are indeed. But I am much excited and embarrassed at present, and would rather not pursue the subject. I scarcely know what I mean. Permit me to resume it at another time.'
`You are not unwell?' asked Martin anxiously.
`No, no!' cried Pecksniff. `No. Permit me to resume it at another time. I'll walk a little. Bless you!'
Old Martin blessed him in return, and squeezed his hand. As he turned away, and slowly walked towards the house, Mr. Pecksniff stood gazing after him: being pretty well recovered from his late emotion, which, in any other man, one might have thought had been assumed as a machinery for feeling Martin's pulse. The change in the old man found such a slight expression in his figure, that Mr. Pecksniff, looking after him, could not help saying to himself:
`And I can wind him round my little finger! Only think!'