Still swilling tea, Mr Venus nodded assent.
‘And there you sit, sir,’ pursued Wegg with an air of thoughtful admiration, ‘as if you had never left off! There you sit, sir, as if you had an unlimited capacity of assimilating the flagrant article! There you sit, sir, in the midst of your works, looking as if you’d been called upon for Home, Sweet Home, and was obleeging the company!
“A exile from home splendour dazzles in vain,
O give you your lowly Preparations again,
The birds stuffed so sweetly that can’t be expected to come at your call,
Give you these with the peace of mind dearer than all.
Home, Home, Home, sweet Home!”
—Be it ever,’ added Mr Wegg in prose as he glanced about the shop, ‘ever so ghastly, all things considered there’s no place like it.’
‘You said you’d like to ask something; but you haven’t asked it,’ remarked Venus, very unsympathetic in manner.
‘Your peace of mind,’ said Wegg, offering condolence, ‘your peace of mind was in a poor way that night. How’s it going on? is it looking up at all?’
‘She does not wish,’ replied Mr Venus with a comical mixture of indignant obstinacy and tender melancholy, ‘to regard herself, nor yet to be regarded, in that particular light. There’s no more to be said.’
‘Ah, dear me, dear me!’ exclaimed Wegg with a sigh, but eyeing him while pretending to keep him company in eyeing the fire, ‘such is Woman! And I remember you said that night, sitting there as I sat here—said that night when your peace of mind was first laid low, that you had taken an interest in these very affairs. Such is coincidence!’
‘Her father,’ rejoined Venus, and then stopped to swallow more tea, ‘her father was mixed up in them.’
‘You didn’t mention her name, sir, I think?’ observed Wegg, pensively. ‘No, you didn’t mention her name that night.’