THE PARTING OF MR. PECKSNIFF AND HIS PUPIL.
“Come, Mr. Pecksniff,” he said with a smile, “don’t let there be any ill-blood between us, pray. I am sorry we have ever differed, and extremely sorry I have ever given you offence. Bear me no ill-will at parting, sir.”
“I bear,” answered Mr. Pecksniff, mildly, “no ill-will to any man on earth.”
“I told you he didn’t,” said Pinch in an under-tone; “I knew he didn’t! He always says he don’t.”
“Then you will shake hands, sir?” cried Westlock, advancing a step or two, and bespeaking Mr. Pinch’s close attention by a glance.
“Umph!” said Mr. Pecksniff, in his most winning tone.
“You will shake hands, sir?”
“No, John,” said Mr. Pecksniff, with a calmness quite ethereal; “no, I will not shake hands, John. I have forgiven you. I had already forgiven you, even before you ceased to reproach and taunt me. I have embraced you in the spirit, John, which is better than shaking hands.”
“Pinch,” said the youth, turning towards him, with a hearty disgust of his late master, “what did I tell you?”
Poor Pinch looked down uneasily at Mr. Pecksniff, whose eye was fixed upon him as it had been from the first: and looking up at the ceiling again, made no reply.