‘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.’