Wegg shakes his head.
‘I scarcely know what to say to this, Mr Wegg,’ observes Venus, after ruminating for a while.
‘Say yes,’ Wegg naturally urges.
‘If I wasn’t soured, my answer would be no. But being soured, Mr Wegg, and driven to reckless madness and desperation, I suppose it’s Yes.’
Wegg joyfully reproduces the two glasses, repeats the ceremony of clinking their rims, and inwardly drinks with great heartiness to the health and success in life of the young lady who has reduced Mr Venus to his present convenient state of mind.
The articles of the friendly move are then severally recited and agreed upon. They are but secrecy, fidelity, and perseverance. The Bower to be always free of access to Mr Venus for his researches, and every precaution to be taken against their attracting observation in the neighbourhood.
‘There’s a footstep!’ exclaims Venus.
‘Where?’ cries Wegg, starting.
‘Outside. St!’
They are in the act of ratifying the treaty of friendly move, by shaking hands upon it. They softly break off, light their pipes which have gone out, and lean back in their chairs. No doubt, a footstep. It approaches the window, and a hand taps at the glass. ‘Come in!’ calls Wegg; meaning come round by the door. But the heavy old-fashioned sash is slowly raised, and a head slowly looks in out of the dark background of night.