‘Don’t be ashamed of me,’ she replied, ‘and you will have more than paid all.’ ‘It would require a life, Lizzie, to pay all; more than a life.’ ‘Live for that, then; live for me, Eugene; live to see how hard I will try to improve myself, and never to discredit you.’ ‘My darling girl,’ he replied, rallying more of his old manner than he had ever yet got together. ‘On the contrary, I have been thinking whether it is not the best thing I can do, to die.’

Her old bold life and habit instantly inspired her. Without vain waste of breath in crying for help where there were none to hear, she ran towards the spot from which the sounds had come. It lay between her and the bridge, but it was more removed from her than she had thought; the night being so very quiet, and sound travelling far with the help of water.

Mr Boffin descended with an air of resignation, and gave himself up, after taking friendly leave of Mr Venus. Once more, Inspector and Inspected went through the streets together, and so arrived at Mr Boffin’s door.

‘That proposal, sir, was a conspiring breach of your confidence, to such an extent, that I ought at once to have made it known to you. But I didn’t, Mr Boffin, and I fell into it.’

‘Shall I tell you,’ asked Lizzie, ‘what I see down there?’ ‘Limited little b?’ suggested Bella with her eyebrows raised. ‘A heart well worth winning, and well won. A heart that, once won, goes through fire and water for the winner, and never changes, and is never daunted.’ ‘Girl’s heart?’ asked Bella, with accompanying eyebrows. Lizzie nodded. ‘And the figure to which it belongs—’ ‘Is yours,’ suggested Bella. ‘No. Most clearly and distinctly yours.’

And yet, Pa, think how terrible the fascination of money is! I see this, and hate this, and dread this, and don’t know but that money might make a much worse change in me. And yet I have money always in my thoughts and my desires; and the whole life I place before myself is money, money, money, and what money can make of life!’

Oh she looked very pretty, she looked very, very pretty! If the father of the late John Harmon had but left his money unconditionally to his son, and if his son had but lighted on this loveable girl for himself, and had the happiness to make her loving as well as loveable!

On the grateful impulse of the moment, Mr Sloppy kissed Mrs Boffin’s hand, and then detaching himself from that good creature that he might have room enough for his feelings, threw back his head, opened his mouth wide, and uttered a dismal howl. It was creditable to his tenderness of heart, but suggested that he might on occasion give some offence to the neighbours: the rather, as the footman looked in, and begged pardon, finding he was not wanted, but excused himself; on the ground ‘that he thought it was Cats.’

‘Eugene, do you design to capture and desert this girl?’ ‘My dear fellow, no.’ ‘Do you design to marry her?’ ‘My dear fellow, no.’ ‘Do you design to pursue her?’ ‘My dear fellow, I don’t design anything. I have no design whatever. I am incapable of designs. If I conceived a design, I should speedily abandon it, exhausted by the operation.’ ‘Oh Eugene, Eugene!’

Tradesmen’s books hunger, and tradesmen’s mouths water, for the gold dust of the Golden Dustman. As Mrs Boffin and Miss Wilfer drive out, or as Mr Boffin walks out at his jog-trot pace, the fishmonger pulls off his hat with an air of reverence founded on conviction. His men cleanse their fingers on their woollen aprons before presuming to touch their foreheads to Mr Boffin or Lady. The gaping salmon and the golden mullet lying on the slab seem to turn up their eyes sideways, as they would turn up their hands if they had any, in worshipping admiration. The butcher, though a portly and a prosperous man, doesn’t know what to do with himself; so anxious is he to express humility when discovered by the passing Boffins taking the air in a mutton grove. Presents are made to the Boffin servants, and bland strangers with business-cards meeting said servants in the street, offer hypothetical corruption.

‘I asked Veneering.’ ‘And Veneering knew as much of me as he knew of you, or as anybody knows of him.’ After more silent walking, the bride stops short, to say in a passionate manner: ‘I never will forgive the Veneerings for this!’ ‘Neither will I,’ returns the bridegroom.

‘Morning, sir! Morning! Morning!’ (‘Calls me Sir!’ said Mr Wegg, to himself; ‘he won’t answer. A bow gone!’)

Mr and Mrs Veneering were bran-new people in a bran-new house in a bran-new quarter of London. Everything about the Veneerings was spick and span new. All their furniture was new, all their friends were new, all their servants were new, their plate was new, their carriage was new, their harness was new, their horses were new, their pictures were new, they themselves were new,