‘Yes, and I see it with pain,’ said Bella, very energetically.
The Secretary gave her such a radiant look, that if he had thanked her a hundred times, he could not have said as much as the look said.
‘I see it with pain,’ repeated Bella, ‘and it often makes me miserable. Miserable, because I cannot bear to be supposed to approve of it, or have any indirect share in it. Miserable, because I cannot bear to be forced to admit to myself that Fortune is spoiling Mr Boffin.’
‘Miss Wilfer,’ said the Secretary, with a beaming face, ‘if you could know with what delight I make the discovery that Fortune isn’t spoiling you, you would know that it more than compensates me for any slight at any other hands.’
‘Oh, don’t speak of me,’ said Bella, giving herself an impatient little slap with her glove. ‘You don’t know me as well as—’
‘As you know yourself?’ suggested the Secretary, finding that she stopped. ‘Do you know yourself?’
‘I know quite enough of myself,’ said Bella, with a charming air of being inclined to give herself up as a bad job, ‘and I don’t improve upon acquaintance. But Mr Boffin.’
‘That Mr Boffin’s manner to me, or consideration for me, is not what it used to be,’ observed the Secretary, ‘must be admitted. It is too plain to be denied.’
‘Are you disposed to deny it, Mr Rokesmith?’ asked Bella, with a look of wonder.
‘Ought I not to be glad to do so, if I could: though it were only for my own sake?’