Chapter 5

  CONCERNING THE MENDICANT'S BRIDE

  The impressive gloom with which Mrs Wilfer received her husband on hisreturn from the wedding, knocked so hard at the door of the cherubicconscience, and likewise so impaired the firmness of the cherubic legs,that the culprit's tottering condition of mind and body might haveroused suspicion in less occupied persons that the grimly heroic lady,Miss Lavinia, and that esteemed friend of the family, Mr George Sampson.But, the attention of all three being fully possessed by the mainfact of the marriage, they had happily none to bestow on the guiltyconspirator; to which fortunate circumstance he owed the escape forwhich he was in nowise indebted to himself.

  'You do not, R. W.' said Mrs Wilfer from her stately corner, 'inquirefor your daughter Bella.'

  'To be sure, my dear,' he returned, with a most flagrant assumption ofunconsciousness, 'I did omit it. How--or perhaps I should rather saywhere--IS Bella?'

  'Not here,' Mrs Wilfer proclaimed, with folded arms.

  The cherub faintly muttered something to the abortive effect of 'Oh,indeed, my dear!'

  'Not here,' repeated Mrs Wilfer, in a stern sonorous voice. 'In a word,R. W., you have no daughter Bella.'

  'No daughter Bella, my dear?'

  'No. Your daughter Bella,' said Mrs Wilfer, with a lofty air of neverhaving had the least copartnership in that young lady: of whom she nowmade reproachful mention as an article of luxury which her husband hadset up entirely on his own account, and in direct opposition to heradvice: '--your daughter Bella has bestowed herself upon a Mendicant.'

  'Good gracious, my dear!'

  'Show your father his daughter Bella's letter, Lavinia,' said MrsWilfer, in her monotonous Act of Parliament tone, and waving her hand.'I think your father will admit it to be documentary proof of what Itell him. I believe your father is acquainted with his daughter Bella'swriting. But I do not know. He may tell you he is not. Nothing willsurprise me.'

  'Posted at Greenwich, and dated this morning,' said the Irrepressible,flouncing at her father in handing him the evidence. 'Hopes Ma won't beangry, but is happily married to Mr John Rokesmith, and didn't mentionit beforehand to avoid words, and please tell darling you, and loveto me, and I should like to know what you'd have said if any otherunmarried member of the family had done it!'

  He read the letter, and faintly exclaimed 'Dear me!'

  'You may well say Dear me!' rejoined Mrs Wilfer, in a deep tone. Uponwhich encouragement he said it again, though scarcely with the successhe had expected; for the scornful lady then remarked, with extremebitterness: 'You said that before.'

  'It's very surprising. But I suppose, my dear,' hinted the cherub, as hefolded the letter after a disconcerting silence, 'that we must make thebest of it? Would you object to my pointing out, my dear, that MrJohn Rokesmith is not (so far as I am acquainted with him), strictlyspeaking, a Mendicant.'

  'Indeed?' returned Mrs Wilfer, with an awful air of politeness. 'Trulyso? I was not aware that Mr John Rokesmith was a gentleman of landedproperty. But I am much relieved to hear it.'

  'I doubt if you HAVE heard it, my dear,' the cherub submitted withhesitation.

  'Thank you,' said Mrs Wilfer. 'I make false statements, it appears? Sobe it. If my daughter flies in my face, surely my husband may. The onething is not more unnatural than the other. There seems a fitness in thearrangement. By all means!' Assuming, with a shiver of resignation, adeadly cheerfulness.

  But, here the Irrepressible skirmished into the conflict, dragging thereluctant form of Mr Sampson after her.

  'Ma,' interposed the young lady, 'I must say I think it would be muchbetter if you would keep to the point, and not hold forth aboutpeople's flying into people's faces, which is nothing more nor less thanimpossible nonsense.'

  'How!' exclaimed Mrs Wilfer, knitting her dark brows.

  'Just im-possible nonsense, Ma,' returned Lavvy, 'and George Sampsonknows it is, as well as I do.'

  Mrs Wilfer suddenly becoming petrified, fixed her indignant eyes uponthe wretched George: who, divided between the support due from him tohis love, and the support due from him to his love's mamma, supportednobody, not even himself.

  'The true point is,' pursued Lavinia, 'that Bella has behaved in a mostunsisterly way to me, and might have severely compromised me with Georgeand with George's family, by making off and getting married in this verylow and disreputable manner--with some pew-opener or other, I suppose,for a bridesmaid--when she ought to have confided in me, and oughtto have said, "If, Lavvy, you consider it due to your engagement withGeorge, that you should countenance the occasion by being present, thenLavvy, I beg you to BE present, keeping my secret from Ma and Pa." As ofcourse I should have done.'

  'As of course you would have done? Ingrate!' exclaimed Mrs Wilfer.'Viper!'

  'I say! You know ma'am. Upon my honour you mustn't,' Mr Sampsonremonstrated, shaking his head seriously, 'With the highest respect foryou, ma'am, upon my life you mustn't. No really, you know. When a manwith the feelings of a gentleman finds himself engaged to a young lady,and it comes (even on the part of a member of the family) to vipers, youknow!--I would merely put it to your own good feeling, you know,' saidMr Sampson, in rather lame conclusion.

  Mrs Wilfer's baleful stare at the young gentleman in acknowledgment ofhis obliging interference was of such a nature that Miss Lavinia burstinto tears, and caught him round the neck for his protection.

  'My own unnatural mother,' screamed the young lady, 'wants to annihilateGeorge! But you shan't be annihilated, George. I'll die first!'

  Mr Sampson, in the arms of his mistress, still struggled to shake hishead at Mrs Wilfer, and to remark: 'With every sentiment of respect foryou, you know, ma'am--vipers really doesn't do you credit.'

  'You shall not be annihilated, George!' cried Miss Lavinia. 'Ma shalldestroy me first, and then she'll be contented. Oh, oh, oh! Have I luredGeorge from his happy home to expose him to this! George, dear, be free!Leave me, ever dearest George, to Ma and to my fate. Give my love toyour aunt, George dear, and implore her not to curse the viper that hascrossed your path and blighted your existence. Oh, oh, oh!' The younglady who, hysterically speaking, was only just come of age, and hadnever gone off yet, here fell into a highly creditable crisis, which,regarded as a first performance, was very successful; Mr Sampson,bending over the body meanwhile, in a state of distraction, whichinduced him to address Mrs Wilfer in the inconsistent expressions:'Demon--with the highest respect for you--behold your work!'

  The cherub stood helplessly rubbing his chin and looking on, but on thewhole was inclined to welcome this diversion as one in which, by reasonof the absorbent properties of hysterics, the previous question wouldbecome absorbed. And so, indeed, it proved, for the Irrepressiblegradually coming to herself; and asking with wild emotion, 'George dear,are you safe?' and further, 'George love, what has happened? Where isMa?' Mr Sampson, with words of comfort, raised her prostrate form, andhanded her to Mrs Wilfer as if the young lady were something in thenature of refreshments. Mrs Wilfer with dignity partaking of therefreshments, by kissing her once on the brow (as if accepting anoyster), Miss Lavvy, tottering, returned to the protection of MrSampson; to whom she said, 'George dear, I am afraid I have beenfoolish; but I am still a little weak and giddy; don't let go my hand,George!' And whom she afterwards greatly agitated at intervals, bygiving utterance, when least expected, to a sound between a sob and abottle of soda water, that seemed to rend the bosom of her frock.

  Among the most remarkable effects of this crisis may be mentioned itshaving, when peace was restored, an inexplicable moral influence, of anelevating kind, on Miss Lavinia, Mrs Wilfer, and Mr George Sampson, fromwhich R. W. was altogether excluded, as an outsider and non-sympathizer.Miss Lavinia assumed a modest air of having distinguished herself; MrsWilfer, a serene air of forgiveness and resignation; Mr Sampson, an airof having been improved and chastened. The influence pervaded the spiritin which they returned to the previous question.

  'George dear,' said Lavvy, with a melancholy smile, 'after what haspassed, I am sure Ma will tell Pa that he may tell Bella we shall all beglad to see her and her husband.'

  Mr Sampson said he was sure of it too; murmuring how eminently herespected Mrs Wilfer, and ever must, and ever would. Never moreeminently, he added, than after what had passed.

  'Far be it from me,' said Mrs Wilfer, making deep proclamation from hercorner, 'to run counter to the feelings of a child of mine, and of aYouth,' Mr Sampson hardly seemed to like that word, 'who is the objectof her maiden preference. I may feel--nay, know--that I have beendeluded and deceived. I may feel--nay, know--that I have been setaside and passed over. I may feel--nay, know--that after having so farovercome my repugnance towards Mr and Mrs Boffin as to receive themunder this roof, and to consent to your daughter Bella's,' here turningto her husband, 'residing under theirs, it were well if your daughterBella,' again turning to her husband, 'had profited in a worldlypoint of view by a connection so distasteful, so disreputable. I mayfeel--nay, know--that in uniting herself to Mr Rokesmith she has unitedherself to one who is, in spite of shallow sophistry, a Mendicant. AndI may feel well assured that your daughter Bella,' again turning to herhusband, 'does not exalt her family by becoming a Mendicant's bride. ButI suppress what I feel, and say nothing of it.'

  Mr Sampson murmured that this was the sort of thing you might expectfrom one who had ever in her own family been an example and neveran outrage. And ever more so (Mr Sampson added, with some degree ofobscurity,) and never more so, than in and through what had passed. Hemust take the liberty of adding, that what was true of the motherwas true of the youngest daughter, and that he could never forget thetouching feelings that the conduct of both had awakened within him. Inconclusion, he did hope that there wasn't a man with a beating heart whowas capable of something that remained undescribed, in consequence ofMiss Lavinia's stopping him as he reeled in his speech.

  'Therefore, R. W.' said Mrs Wilfer, resuming her discourse and turningto her lord again, 'let your daughter Bella come when she will, and shewill be received. So,' after a short pause, and an air of having takenmedicine in it, 'so will her husband.'

  'And I beg, Pa,' said Lavinia, 'that you will not tell Bella what Ihave undergone. It can do no good, and it might cause her to reproachherself.'

  'My dearest girl,' urged Mr Sampson, 'she ought to know it.'

  'No, George,' said Lavinia, in a tone of resolute self-denial. 'No,dearest George, let it be buried in oblivion.'

  Mr Sampson considered that, 'too noble.'

  'Nothing is too noble, dearest George,' returned Lavinia. 'And Pa, Ihope you will be careful not to refer before Bella, if you can helpit, to my engagement to George. It might seem like reminding her of herhaving cast herself away. And I hope, Pa, that you will think it equallyright to avoid mentioning George's rising prospects, when Bella ispresent. It might seem like taunting her with her own poor fortunes.Let me ever remember that I am her younger sister, and ever spare herpainful contrasts, which could not but wound her sharply.'

  Mr Sampson expressed his belief that such was the demeanour of Angels.Miss Lavvy replied with solemnity, 'No, dearest George, I am but toowell aware that I am merely human.'

  Mrs Wilfer, for her part, still further improved the occasion by sittingwith her eyes fastened on her husband, like two great black notes ofinterrogation, severely inquiring, Are you looking into your breast? Doyou deserve your blessings? Can you lay your hand upon your heart andsay that you are worthy of so hysterical a daughter? I do not ask you ifyou are worthy of such a wife--put Me out of the question--but areyou sufficiently conscious of, and thankful for, the pervading moralgrandeur of the family spectacle on which you are gazing? Theseinquiries proved very harassing to R. W. who, besides being a littledisturbed by wine, was in perpetual terror of committing himself by theutterance of stray words that would betray his guilty foreknowledge.However, the scene being over, and--all things considered--well over, hesought refuge in a doze; which gave his lady immense offence.

  'Can you think of your daughter Bella, and sleep?' she disdainfullyinquired.

  To which he mildly answered, 'Yes, I think I can, my dear.'

  'Then,' said Mrs Wilfer, with solemn indignation, 'I would recommendyou, if you have a human feeling, to retire to bed.'

  'Thank you, my dear,' he replied; 'I think it IS the best place for me.'And with these unsympathetic words very gladly withdrew.

  Within a few weeks afterwards, the Mendicant's bride (arm-in-arm withthe Mendicant) came to tea, in fulfilment of an engagement made throughher father. And the way in which the Mendicant's bride dashed at theunassailable position so considerately to be held by Miss Lavy, andscattered the whole of the works in all directions in a moment, wastriumphant.

  'Dearest Ma,' cried Bella, running into the room with a radiant face,'how do you do, dearest Ma?' And then embraced her, joyously. 'And Lavvydarling, how do YOU do, and how's George Sampson, and how is he gettingon, and when are you going to be married, and how rich are you goingto grow? You must tell me all about it, Lavvy dear, immediately.John, love, kiss Ma and Lavvy, and then we shall all be at home andcomfortable.'

  Mrs Wilfer stared, but was helpless. Miss Lavinia stared, but washelpless. Apparently with no compunction, and assuredly with noceremony, Bella tossed her bonnet away, and sat down to make the tea.

  'Dearest Ma and Lavvy, you both take sugar, I know. And Pa (you goodlittle Pa), you don't take milk. John does. I didn't before I wasmarried; but I do now, because John does. John dear, did you kiss Ma andLavvy? Oh, you did! Quite correct, John dear; but I didn't see you doit, so I asked. Cut some bread and butter, John; that's a love. Ma likesit doubled. And now you must tell me, dearest Ma and Lavvy, upon yourwords and honours! Didn't you for a moment--just a moment--think I was adreadful little wretch when I wrote to say I had run away?'

  Before Mrs Wilfer could wave her gloves, the Mendicant's bride in hermerriest affectionate manner went on again.

  'I think it must have made you rather cross, dear Ma and Lavvy, and Iknow I deserved that you should be very cross. But you see I had beensuch a heedless, heartless creature, and had led you so to expect thatI should marry for money, and so to make sure that I was incapable ofmarrying for love, that I thought you couldn't believe me. Because, yousee, you didn't know how much of Good, Good, Good, I had learnt fromJohn. Well! So I was sly about it, and ashamed of what you supposed meto be, and fearful that we couldn't understand one another and mightcome to words, which we should all be sorry for afterwards, and so Isaid to John that if he liked to take me without any fuss, he might. Andas he did like, I let him. And we were married at Greenwich church inthe presence of nobody--except an unknown individual who dropped in,'here her eyes sparkled more brightly, 'and half a pensioner. And now,isn't it nice, dearest Ma and Lavvy, to know that no words have beensaid which any of us can be sorry for, and that we are all the best offriends at the pleasantest of teas!'

  Having got up and kissed them again, she slipped back to her chair(after a loop on the road to squeeze her husband round the neck) andagain went on.

  'And now you will naturally want to know, dearest Ma and Lavvy, howwe live, and what we have got to live upon. Well! And so we live onBlackheath, in the charm--ingest of dolls' houses, de--lightfullyfurnished, and we have a clever little servant who is de--cidedlypretty, and we are economical and orderly, and do everything byclockwork, and we have a hundred and fifty pounds a year, and wehave all we want, and more. And lastly, if you would like to know inconfidence, as perhaps you may, what is my opinion of my husband, myopinion is--that I almost love him!'

  'And if you would like to know in confidence, as perhaps you may,'said her husband, smiling, as he stood by her side, without her havingdetected his approach, 'my opinion of my wife, my opinion is--.' ButBella started up, and put her hand upon his lips.

  'Stop, Sir! No, John, dear! Seriously! Please not yet a while! I want tobe something so much worthier than the doll in the doll's house.'

  'My darling, are you not?'

  'Not half, not a quarter, so much worthier as I hope you may someday find me! Try me through some reverse, John--try me through sometrial--and tell them after THAT, what you think of me.'

  'I will, my Life,' said John. 'I promise it.'

  'That's my dear John. And you won't speak a word now; will you?'

  'And I won't,' said John, with a very expressive look of admirationaround him, 'speak a word now!'

  She laid her laughing cheek upon his breast to thank him, and said,looking at the rest of them sideways out of her bright eyes: 'I'll gofurther, Pa and Ma and Lavvy. John don't suspect it--he has no idea ofit--but I quite love him!'

  Even Mrs Wilfer relaxed under the influence of her married daughter, andseemed in a majestic manner to imply remotely that if R. W. had been amore deserving object, she too might have condescended to come down fromher pedestal for his beguilement. Miss Lavinia, on the other hand, hadstrong doubts of the policy of the course of treatment, and whether itmight not spoil Mr Sampson, if experimented on in the case of that younggentleman. R. W. himself was for his part convinced that he was fatherof one of the most charming of girls, and that Rokesmith was the mostfavoured of men; which opinion, if propounded to him, Rokesmith wouldprobably not have contested.

  The newly-married pair left early, so that they might walk at leisure totheir starting-place from London, for Greenwich. At first they werevery cheerful and talked much; but after a while, Bella fancied that herhusband was turning somewhat thoughtful. So she asked him:

  'John dear, what's the matter?'

  'Matter, my love?'

  'Won't you tell me,' said Bella, looking up into his face, 'what you arethinking of?'

  'There's not much in the thought, my soul. I was thinking whether youwouldn't like me to be rich?'

  'You rich, John?' repeated Bella, shrinking a little.

  'I mean, really rich. Say, as rich as Mr Boffin. You would like that?'

  'I should be almost afraid to try, John dear. Was he much the better forhis wealth? Was I much the better for the little part I once had in it?'

  'But all people are not the worse for riches, my own.'

  'Most people?' Bella musingly suggested with raised eyebrows.

  'Nor even most people, it may be hoped. If you were rich, for instance,you would have a great power of doing good to others.'

  'Yes, sir, for instance,' Bella playfully rejoined; 'but should Iexercise the power, for instance? And again, sir, for instance; shouldI, at the same time, have a great power of doing harm to myself?'

  Laughing and pressing her arm, he retorted: 'But still, again forinstance; would you exercise that power?'

  'I don't know,' said Bella, thoughtfully shaking her head. 'I hope not.I think not. But it's so easy to hope not and think not, without theriches.'

  'Why don't you say, my darling--instead of that phrase--being poor?' heasked, looking earnestly at her.

  'Why don't I say, being poor! Because I am not poor. Dear John, it's notpossible that you suppose I think we are poor?'

  'I do, my love.'

  'Oh John!'

  'Understand me, sweetheart. I know that I am rich beyond all wealth inhaving you; but I think OF you, and think FOR you. In such a dress asyou are wearing now, you first charmed me, and in no dress could youever look, to my thinking, more graceful or more beautiful. But you haveadmired many finer dresses this very day; and is it not natural that Iwish I could give them to you?'

  'It's very nice that you should wish it, John. It brings these tears ofgrateful pleasure into my eyes, to hear you say so with such tenderness.But I don't want them.'

  'Again,' he pursued, 'we are now walking through the muddy streets. Ilove those pretty feet so dearly, that I feel as if I could not bear thedirt to soil the sole of your shoe. Is it not natural that I wish youcould ride in a carriage?'

  'It's very nice,' said Bella, glancing downward at the feet in question,'to know that you admire them so much, John dear, and since you do, Iam sorry that these shoes are a full size too large. But I don't want acarriage, believe me.'

  'You would like one if you could have one, Bella?'

  'I shouldn't like it for its own sake, half so well as such a wish forit. Dear John, your wishes are as real to me as the wishes in the Fairystory, that were all fulfilled as soon as spoken. Wish me everythingthat you can wish for the woman you dearly love, and I have as good asgot it, John. I have better than got it, John!'

  They were not the less happy for such talk, and home was not the lesshome for coming after it. Bella was fast developing a perfect geniusfor home. All the loves and graces seemed (her husband thought) to havetaken domestic service with her, and to help her to make home engaging.

  Her married life glided happily on. She was alone all day, for, after anearly breakfast her husband repaired every morning to the City, and didnot return until their late dinner hour. He was 'in a China house,' heexplained to Bella: which she found quite satisfactory, without pursuingthe China house into minuter details than a wholesale vision of tea,rice, odd-smelling silks, carved boxes, and tight-eyed people in morethan double-soled shoes, with their pigtails pulling their heads ofhair off, painted on transparent porcelain. She always walked with herhusband to the railroad, and was always there again to meet him; her oldcoquettish ways a little sobered down (but not much), and her dressas daintily managed as if she managed nothing else. But, John gone tobusiness and Bella returned home, the dress would be laid aside, trimlittle wrappers and aprons would be substituted, and Bella, putting backher hair with both hands, as if she were making the most business-likearrangements for going dramatically distracted, would enter on thehousehold affairs of the day. Such weighing and mixing and choppingand grating, such dusting and washing and polishing, such snippingand weeding and trowelling and other small gardening, such making andmending and folding and airing, such diverse arrangements, and above allsuch severe study! For Mrs J. R., who had never been wont to do too muchat home as Miss B. W., was under the constant necessity of referring foradvice and support to a sage volume entitled The Complete British FamilyHousewife, which she would sit consulting, with her elbows on the tableand her temples on her hands, like some perplexed enchantress poringover the Black Art. This, principally because the Complete BritishHousewife, however sound a Briton at heart, was by no means an expertBriton at expressing herself with clearness in the British tongue,and sometimes might have issued her directions to equal purpose in theKamskatchan language. In any crisis of this nature, Bella would suddenlyexclaim aloud, 'Oh you ridiculous old thing, what do you mean by that?You must have been drinking!' And having made this marginal note, wouldtry the Housewife again, with all her dimples screwed into an expressionof profound research.

  There was likewise a coolness on the part of the British Housewife,which Mrs John Rokesmith found highly exasperating. She would say,'Take a salamander,' as if a general should command a private to catcha Tartar. Or, she would casually issue the order, 'Throw in a handful--'of something entirely unattainable. In these, the Housewife's mostglaring moments of unreason, Bella would shut her up and knock her onthe table, apostrophising her with the compliment, 'O you ARE a stupidold Donkey! Where am I to get it, do you think?'

  Another branch of study claimed the attention of Mrs John Rokesmith fora regular period every day. This was the mastering of the newspaper, sothat she might be close up with John on general topics when John camehome. In her desire to be in all things his companion, she would haveset herself with equal zeal to master Algebra, or Euclid, if he haddivided his soul between her and either. Wonderful was the way in whichshe would store up the City Intelligence, and beamingly shed itupon John in the course of the evening; incidentally mentioning thecommodities that were looking up in the markets, and how much gold hadbeen taken to the Bank, and trying to look wise and serious over ituntil she would laugh at herself most charmingly and would say, kissinghim: 'It all comes of my love, John dear.'

  For a City man, John certainly did appear to care as little as might befor the looking up or looking down of things, as well as for the goldthat got taken to the Bank. But he cared, beyond all expression, for hiswife, as a most precious and sweet commodity that was always looking up,and that never was worth less than all the gold in the world. And she,being inspired by her affection, and having a quick wit and a fine readyinstinct, made amazing progress in her domestic efficiency, though,as an endearing creature, she made no progress at all. This was herhusband's verdict, and he justified it by telling her that she had begunher married life as the most endearing creature that could possibly be.

  'And you have such a cheerful spirit!' he said, fondly. 'You are like abright light in the house.'

  'Am I truly, John?'

  'Are you truly? Yes, indeed. Only much more, and much better.'

  'Do you know, John dear,' said Bella, taking him by a button of hiscoat, 'that I sometimes, at odd moments--don't laugh, John, please.'

  Nothing should induce John to do it, when she asked him not to do it.

  '--That I sometimes think, John, I feel a little serious.'

  'Are you too much alone, my darling?'

  'O dear, no, John! The time is so short that I have not a moment toomuch in the week.'

  'Why serious, my life, then? When serious?'

  'When I laugh, I think,' said Bella, laughing as she laid her head uponhis shoulder. 'You wouldn't believe, sir, that I feel serious now? But Ido.' And she laughed again, and something glistened in her eyes.

  'Would you like to be rich, pet?' he asked her coaxingly.

  'Rich, John! How CAN you ask such goose's questions?'

  'Do you regret anything, my love?'

  'Regret anything? No!' Bella confidently answered. But then, suddenlychanging, she said, between laughing and glistening: 'Oh yes, I dothough. I regret Mrs Boffin.'

  'I, too, regret that separation very much. But perhaps it is onlytemporary. Perhaps things may so fall out, as that you may sometimes seeher again--as that we may sometimes see her again.' Bella might be veryanxious on the subject, but she scarcely seemed so at the moment. Withan absent air, she was investigating that button on her husband's coat,when Pa came in to spend the evening.

  Pa had his special chair and his special corner reserved for him onall occasions, and--without disparagement of his domestic joys--was farhappier there, than anywhere. It was always pleasantly droll to see Paand Bella together; but on this present evening her husband thought hermore than usually fantastic with him.

  'You are a very good little boy,' said Bella, 'to come unexpectedly,as soon as you could get out of school. And how have they used you atschool to-day, you dear?'

  'Well, my pet,' replied the cherub, smiling and rubbing his hands as shesat him down in his chair, 'I attend two schools. There's the MincingLane establishment, and there's your mother's Academy. Which might youmean, my dear?'

  'Both,' said Bella.

  'Both, eh? Why, to say the truth, both have taken a little out of meto-day, my dear, but that was to be expected. There's no royal road tolearning; and what is life but learning!'

  'And what do you do with yourself when you have got your learning byheart, you silly child?'

  'Why then, my dear,' said the cherub, after a little consideration, 'Isuppose I die.'

  'You are a very bad boy,' retorted Bella, 'to talk about dismal thingsand be out of spirits.'

  'My Bella,' rejoined her father, 'I am not out of spirits. I am as gayas a lark.' Which his face confirmed.

  'Then if you are sure and certain it's not you, I suppose it must beI,' said Bella; 'so I won't do so any more. John dear, we must give thislittle fellow his supper, you know.'

  'Of course we must, my darling.'

  'He has been grubbing and grubbing at school,' said Bella, looking ather father's hand and lightly slapping it, 'till he's not fit to beseen. O what a grubby child!'

  'Indeed, my dear,' said her father, 'I was going to ask to be allowed towash my hands, only you find me out so soon.'

  'Come here, sir!' cried Bella, taking him by the front of his coat,'come here and be washed directly. You are not to be trusted to do itfor yourself. Come here, sir!'

  The cherub, to his genial amusement, was accordingly conducted to alittle washing-room, where Bella soaped his face and rubbed his face,and soaped his hands and rubbed his hands, and splashed him and rinsedhim and towelled him, until he was as red as beet-root, even to his veryears: 'Now you must be brushed and combed, sir,' said Bella, busily.'Hold the light, John. Shut your eyes, sir, and let me take hold of yourchin. Be good directly, and do as you are told!'

  Her father being more than willing to obey, she dressed his hair in hermost elaborate manner, brushing it out straight, parting it, winding itover her fingers, sticking it up on end, and constantly falling back onJohn to get a good look at the effect of it. Who always received heron his disengaged arm, and detained her, while the patient cherub stoodwaiting to be finished.

  'There!' said Bella, when she had at last completed the final touches.'Now, you are something like a genteel boy! Put your jacket on, and comeand have your supper.'

  The cherub investing himself with his coat was led back to hiscorner--where, but for having no egotism in his pleasant nature, hewould have answered well enough for that radiant though self-sufficientboy, Jack Horner--Bella with her own hands laid a cloth for him, andbrought him his supper on a tray. 'Stop a moment,' said she, 'we mustkeep his little clothes clean;' and tied a napkin under his chin, in avery methodical manner.

  While he took his supper, Bella sat by him, sometimes admonishing himto hold his fork by the handle, like a polite child, and at other timescarving for him, or pouring out his drink. Fantastic as it all was, andaccustomed as she ever had been to make a plaything of her good father,ever delighted that she should put him to that account, still there wasan occasional something on Bella's part that was new. It could not besaid that she was less playful, whimsical, or natural, than she alwayshad been; but it seemed, her husband thought, as if there were somerather graver reason than he had supposed for what she had so latelysaid, and as if throughout all this, there were glimpses of anunderlying seriousness.

  It was a circumstance in support of this view of the case, that when shehad lighted her father's pipe, and mixed him his glass of grog, she satdown on a stool between her father and her husband, leaning her arm uponthe latter, and was very quiet. So quiet, that when her father rose totake his leave, she looked round with a start, as if she had forgottenhis being there.

  'You go a little way with Pa, John?'

  'Yes, my dear. Do you?'

  'I have not written to Lizzie Hexam since I wrote and told her that Ireally had a lover--a whole one. I have often thought I would like totell her how right she was when she pretended to read in the live coalsthat I would go through fire and water for him. I am in the humour totell her so to-night, John, and I'll stay at home and do it.'

  'You are tired.'

  'Not at all tired, John dear, but in the humour to write to Lizzie. Goodnight, dear Pa. Good night, you dear, good, gentle Pa!'

  Left to herself she sat down to write, and wrote Lizzie a long letter.She had but completed it and read it over, when her husband came back.'You are just in time, sir,' said Bella; 'I am going to give you yourfirst curtain lecture. It shall be a parlour-curtain lecture. You shalltake this chair of mine when I have folded my letter, and I will takethe stool (though you ought to take it, I can tell you, sir, if it'sthe stool of repentance), and you'll soon find yourself taken to tasksoundly.'

  Her letter folded, sealed, and directed, and her pen wiped, and hermiddle finger wiped, and her desk locked up and put away, and thesetransactions performed with an air of severe business sedateness, whichthe Complete British Housewife might have assumed, and certainly wouldnot have rounded off and broken down in with a musical laugh, as Belladid: she placed her husband in his chair, and placed herself upon herstool.

  'Now, sir! To begin at the beginning. What is your name?'

  A question more decidedly rushing at the secret he was keeping fromher, could not have astounded him. But he kept his countenance and hissecret, and answered, 'John Rokesmith, my dear.'

  'Good boy! Who gave you that name?'

  With a returning suspicion that something might have betrayed him toher, he answered, interrogatively, 'My godfathers and my godmothers,dear love?'

  'Pretty good!' said Bella. 'Not goodest good, because you hesitate aboutit. However, as you know your Catechism fairly, so far, I'll let you offthe rest. Now, I am going to examine you out of my own head. John dear,why did you go back, this evening, to the question you once asked mebefore--would I like to be rich?'

  Again, his secret! He looked down at her as she looked up at him, withher hands folded on his knee, and it was as nearly told as ever secretwas.

  Having no reply ready, he could do no better than embrace her.

  'In short, dear John,' said Bella, 'this is the topic of my lecture: Iwant nothing on earth, and I want you to believe it.'

  'If that's all, the lecture may be considered over, for I do.'

  'It's not all, John dear,' Bella hesitated. 'It's only Firstly. There'sa dreadful Secondly, and a dreadful Thirdly to come--as I used to say tomyself in sermon-time when I was a very small-sized sinner at church.'

  'Let them come, my dearest.'

  'Are you sure, John dear; are you absolutely certain in your innermostheart of hearts--?'

  'Which is not in my keeping,' he rejoined.

  'No, John, but the key is.--Are you absolutely certain that down at thebottom of that heart of hearts, which you have given to me as Ihave given mine to you, there is no remembrance that I was once verymercenary?'

  'Why, if there were no remembrance in me of the time you speak of,' hesoftly asked her with his lips to hers, 'could I love you quite as wellas I do; could I have in the Calendar of my life the brightest of itsdays; could I whenever I look at your dear face, or hear your dearvoice, see and hear my noble champion? It can never have been that whichmade you serious, darling?'

  'No John, it wasn't that, and still less was it Mrs Boffin, though Ilove her. Wait a moment, and I'll go on with the lecture. Give me amoment, because I like to cry for joy. It's so delicious, John dear, tocry for joy.'

  She did so on his neck, and, still clinging there, laughed a little whenshe said, 'I think I am ready now for Thirdly, John.'

  'I am ready for Thirdly,' said John, 'whatever it is.'

  'I believe, John,' pursued Bella, 'that you believe that I believe--'

  'My dear child,' cried her husband gaily, 'what a quantity ofbelieving!'

  'Isn't there?' said Bella, with another laugh. 'I never knew such aquantity! It's like verbs in an exercise. But I can't get on with lessbelieving. I'll try again. I believe, dear John, that you believe thatI believe that we have as much money as we require, and that we want fornothing.'

  'It is strictly true, Bella.'

  'But if our money should by any means be rendered not so much--if wehad to stint ourselves a little in purchases that we can afford tomake now--would you still have the same confidence in my being quitecontented, John?'

  'Precisely the same confidence, my soul.'

  'Thank you, John dear, thousands upon thousands of times. And I may takeit for granted, no doubt,' with a little faltering, 'that you would bequite as contented yourself John? But, yes, I know I may. For, knowingthat I should be so, how surely I may know that you would be so; you whoare so much stronger, and firmer, and more reasonable and more generous,than I am.'

  'Hush!' said her husband, 'I must not hear that. You are all wrongthere, though otherwise as right as can be. And now I am brought to alittle piece of news, my dearest, that I might have told you earlierin the evening. I have strong reason for confidently believing thatwe shall never be in the receipt of a smaller income than our presentincome.'

  She might have shown herself more interested in the intelligence;but she had returned to the investigation of the coat-button that hadengaged her attention a few hours before, and scarcely seemed to heedwhat he said.

  'And now we have got to the bottom of it at last,' cried her husband,rallying her, 'and this is the thing that made you serious?'

  'No dear,' said Bella, twisting the button and shaking her head, 'itwasn't this.'

  'Why then, Lord bless this little wife of mine, there's a Fourthly!'exclaimed John.

  'This worried me a little, and so did Secondly,' said Bella, occupiedwith the button, 'but it was quite another sort of seriousness--a muchdeeper and quieter sort of seriousness--that I spoke of John dear.'

  As he bent his face to hers, she raised hers to meet it, and laid herlittle right hand on his eyes, and kept it there.

  'Do you remember, John, on the day we were married, Pa's speaking of theships that might be sailing towards us from the unknown seas?'

  'Perfectly, my darling!'

  'I think...among them...there is a ship upon the ocean...bringing...toyou and me...a little baby, John.'

 

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