Mrs. Lovett made a sort of gulph of the word, but she adopted it.
"If you, I say, keep your half of the proceeds of our business, and I keep mine, I don't see how it is possible for us to quarrel."
"Quite impossible."
He began to strop a razor diligently, and to try its edge across his thumb nail. Mrs. Lovett's passion—that overwhelming passion which had induced her to enter Todd's shop, and defy him to a species of single combat of wits—had in a great measure subsided, giving place to a calmer and more reflective feeling. One of the results of that feeling was a self-question to the effect of, "What will be the result of an open quarrel with Todd?" Mrs. Lovett shook a little at the answer she felt forced to give herself to this question. That answer was continued in two words—mutual destruction! Yes, that would be the consequence.
"Todd," she said in a softened tone, "if I had forged your name, and gone to the city and possessed myself of all the money, what would you have thought? Tell me that."
"Just what you thought—that it was the most scandalous breach of faith that could possibly be; but an explanation ought to put that right."
"It has."
"Then you are satisfied?"
"I am. At what time shall we go together, to-morrow morning, to Mr. Black's in Abchurch Lane?"
"Name your own time," said Todd with the most assumed air in the world. "Black lives at Ballam Hill, and don't get to business until ten; but any time after that will do."