“Indeed it will,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “You may make up your mind to that, and think yourself well off besides.”
“It was all Mrs. Bumble. She would do it,” urged Mr. Bumble; first looking round to ascertain that his partner had left the room.
“That is no excuse,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “You were present on the occasion of the destruction of these trinkets, and indeed are the more guilty of the two, in the eye of the law; for the law supposes that your wife acts under your direction.”
“If the law supposes that,” said Mr. Bumble, squeezing his hat emphatically in both hands, “the law is a ass—a idiot. If that’s the eye of the law, the law is a bachelor; and the worst I wish the law is, that his eye may be opened by experience—by experience.”
Laying great stress on the repetition of these two words, Mr. Bumble fixed his hat on very tight, and putting his hands in his pockets, followed his helpmate downstairs.
“Young lady,” said Mr. Brownlow, turning to Rose, “give me your hand. Do not tremble. You need not fear to hear the few remaining words we have to say.”
“If they have—I do not know how they can, but if they have—any reference to me,” said Rose, “pray let me hear them at some other time. I have not strength or spirits now.”
“Nay,” returned the old gentleman, drawing her arm through his; “you have more fortitude than this, I am sure. Do you know this young lady, sir?”
“Yes,” replied Monks.
“I never saw you before,” said Rose faintly.