Trouble was expressed in Mr Pecksniff’s visage, as he pressed his hot hands together, and replied, with humility, ‘Quite disinterestedly, sir, I assure you.’
‘I know it,’ said old Martin, in his quiet way. ‘I am sure of it. I said so. It was disinterested too, in you, to draw that herd of harpies off from me, and be their victim yourself; most other men would have suffered them to display themselves in all their rapacity, and would have striven to rise, by contrast, in my estimation. You felt for me, and drew them off, for which I owe you many thanks. Although I left the place, I know what passed behind my back, you see!’
‘You amaze me, sir!’ cried Mr Pecksniff; which was true enough.
‘My knowledge of your proceedings,’ said the old man, does not stop at this. You have a new inmate in your house.’
‘Yes, sir,’ rejoined the architect, ‘I have.’
‘He must quit it’ said Martin.
‘For—for yours?’ asked Mr Pecksniff, with a quavering mildness.
‘For any shelter he can find,’ the old man answered. ‘He has deceived you.’
‘I hope not’ said Mr Pecksniff, eagerly. ‘I trust not. I have been extremely well disposed towards that young man. I hope it cannot be shown that he has forfeited all claim to my protection. Deceit—deceit, my dear Mr Chuzzlewit, would be final. I should hold myself bound, on proof of deceit, to renounce him instantly.’
The old man glanced at both his fair supporters, but especially at Miss Mercy, whom, indeed, he looked full in the face, with a greater demonstration of interest than had yet appeared in his features. His gaze again encountered Mr Pecksniff, as he said, composedly: