Our Mutual Friend
freedom, and was equally the delight of his wife. For many years their
only walks in London had been taken on Sundays when the shops were shut;
and when every day in the week became their holiday, they derived an
enjoyment from the variety and fancy and beauty of the display in the
windows, which seemed incapable of exhaustion. As if the principal
streets were a great Theatre and the play were childishly new to them,
Mr and Mrs Boffin, from the beginning of Bella’s intimacy in their
house, had been constantly in the front row, charmed with all they saw
and applauding vigorously. But now, Mr Boffin’s interest began to centre
in book-shops; and more than that—for that of itself would not have
been much—in one exceptional kind of book.
‘Look in here, my dear,’ Mr Boffin would say, checking Bella’s arm at a
bookseller’s window; ‘you can read at sight, and your eyes are as sharp
as they’re bright. Now, look well about you, my dear, and tell me if you
see any book about a Miser.’
If Bella saw such a book, Mr Boffin would instantly dart in and buy
it. And still, as if they had not found it, they would seek out another
book-shop, and Mr Boffin would say, ‘Now, look well all round, my
dear, for a Life of a Miser, or any book of that sort; any Lives of odd
characters who may have been Misers.’
Bella, thus directed, would examine the window with the greatest
attention, while Mr Boffin would examine her face. The moment she
pointed out any book as being entitled Lives of eccentric personages,
Anecdotes of strange characters, Records of remarkable individuals, or
anything to that purpose, Mr Boffin’s countenance would light up, and
he would instantly dart in and buy it. Size, price, quality, were of no
account. Any book that seemed to promise a chance of miserly biography,
Mr Boffin purchased without a moment’s delay and carried home. Happening
to be informed by a bookseller that a portion of the Annual Register was
devoted to ‘Characters’, Mr Boffin at once bought a whole set of that
ingenious compilation, and began to carry it home piecemeal, confiding
a volume to Bella, and bearing three himself. The completion of this
labour occupied them about a fortnight. When the task was done, Mr
Boffin, with his appetite for Misers whetted instead of satiated, began
to look out again.
It very soon became unnecessary to tell Bella what to look for, and an
understanding was established between her and Mr Boffin that she was
always to look for Lives of Misers. Morning after morning they roamed
about the town together, pursuing this singular research. Miserly
literature not being abundant, the proportion of failures to successes
may have been as a hundred to one; still Mr Boffin, never wearied,
remained as avaricious for misers as he had been at the first onset. It
was curious that Bella never saw the books about the house, nor did she
ever hear from Mr Boffin one word of reference to their contents. He
seemed to save up his Misers as they had saved up their money. As they
had been greedy for it, and secret about it, and had hidden it, so he
was greedy for them, and secret about them, and hid them. But beyond all
doubt it was to be noticed, and was by Bella very clearly noticed, that,
as he pursued the acquisition of those dismal records with the ardour of
Don Quixote for his books of chivalry, he began to spend his money with
a more sparing hand. And often when he came out of a shop with some new
account of one of those wretched lunatics, she would almost shrink from
the sly dry chuckle with which he would take her arm again and trot
away. It did not appear that Mrs Boffin knew of this taste. He made
no allusion to it, except in the morning walks when he and Bella were
always alone; and Bella, partly under the impression that he took her
into his confidence by implication, and partly in remembrance of Mrs
Boffin’s anxious face that night, held the same reserve.
While these occurrences were in progress, Mrs Lammle made the discovery
that Bella had a fascinating influence over her. The Lammles, originally
presented by the dear Veneerings, visited the Boffins on all grand
occasions, and Mrs Lammle had not previously found this out; but now the
knowledge came upon her all at once. It was a most extraordinary thing
(she said to Mrs Boffin); she was foolishly susceptible of the power of
beauty, but it wasn’t altogether that; she never had been able to resist
a natural grace of manner, but it wasn’t altogether that; it was more
than that, and there was no name for the indescribable extent and degree
to which she was captivated by this charming girl.
This charming girl having the words repeated to her by Mrs Boffin (who
was proud of her being admired, and would have done anything to give her
pleasure), naturally recognized in Mrs Lammle a woman of penetration
and taste. Responding to the sentiments, by being very gracious to Mrs
Lammle, she gave that lady the means of so improving her opportunity,
as that the captivation became reciprocal, though always wearing an
appearance of greater sobriety on Bella’s part than on the enthusiastic
Sophronia’s. Howbeit, they were so much together that, for a time, the
Boffin chariot held Mrs Lammle oftener than Mrs Boffin: a preference
of which the latter worthy soul was not in the least jealous, placidly
remarking, ‘Mrs Lammle is a younger companion for her than I am, and
Lor! she’s more fashionable.’
But between Bella Wilfer and Georgiana Podsnap there was this one
difference, among many others, that Bella was in no danger of being
captivated by Alfred. She distrusted and disliked him. Indeed, her
perception was so quick, and her observation so sharp, that after all
she mistrusted his wife too, though with her giddy vanity and wilfulness
she squeezed the mistrust away into a corner of her mind, and blocked it
up there.
Mrs Lammle took the friendliest interest in Bella’s making a good match.
Mrs Lammle said, in a sportive way, she really must show her beautiful
Bella what kind of wealthy creatures she and Alfred had on hand, who
would as one man fall at her feet enslaved. Fitting occasion made,
Mrs Lammle accordingly produced the most passable of those feverish,
boastful, and indefinably loose gentlemen who were always lounging in
and out of the City on questions of the Bourse and Greek and Spanish and
India and Mexican and par and premium and discount and three-quarters
and seven-eighths. Who in their agreeable manner did homage to Bella
as if she were a compound of fine girl, thorough-bred horse, well-built
drag, and remarkable pipe. But without the least effect, though even Mr
Fledgeby’s attractions were cast into the scale.
‘I fear, Bella dear,’ said Mrs Lammle one day in the chariot, ‘that you
will be very hard to please.’
‘I don’t expect to be pleased, dear,’ said Bella, with a languid turn of
her eyes.
‘Truly, my love,’ returned Sophronia, shaking her head, and smiling
her best smile, ‘it would not be very easy to find a man worthy of your
attractions.’
‘The question is not a man, my dear,’ said Bella, coolly, ‘but an
establishment.’
‘My love,’ returned Mrs Lammle, ‘your prudence amazes me—where DID you
study life so well!—you are right. In such a case as yours, the object
is a fitting establishment. You could not descend to an inadequate one
from Mr Boffin’s house, and even if your beauty alone could not command
it, it is to be assumed that Mr and Mrs Boffin will—’
‘Oh! they have already,’ Bella interposed.
‘No! Have they really?’
A little vexed by a suspicion that she had spoken precipitately, and
withal a little defiant of her own vexation, Bella determined not to
retreat.
‘That is to say,’ she explained, ‘they have told me they mean to portion
me as their adopted child, if you mean that. But don’t mention it.’
‘Mention it!’ replied Mrs Lammle, as if she were full of awakened
feeling at the suggestion of such an impossibility. ‘Men-tion it!’
‘I don’t mind telling you, Mrs Lammle—’ Bella began again.
‘My love, say Sophronia, or I must not say Bella.’
With a little short, petulant ‘Oh!’ Bella complied. ‘Oh!—Sophronia
then—I don’t mind telling you, Sophronia, that I am convinced I have
no heart, as people call it; and that I think that sort of thing is
nonsense.’
‘Brave girl!’ murmured Mrs Lammle.
‘And so,’ pursued Bella, ‘as to seeking to please myself, I don’t;
except in the one respect I have mentioned. I am indifferent otherwise.’
‘But you can’t help pleasing, Bella,’ said Mrs Lammle, rallying her with
an arch look and her best smile, ‘you can’t help making a proud and an
admiring husband. You may not care to please yourself, and you may not
care to please him, but you are not a free agent as to pleasing: you
are forced to do that, in spite of yourself, my dear; so it may be a
question whether you may not as well please yourself too, if you can.’
Now, the very grossness of this flattery put Bella upon proving that she
actually did please in spite of herself. She had a misgiving that she
was doing wrong—though she had an indistinct foreshadowing that some
harm might come of it thereafter, she little thought what consequences
it would really bring about—but she went on with her confidence.
‘Don’t talk of pleasing in spite of one’s self, dear,’ said Bella. ‘I
have had enough of that.’
‘Ay?’ cried Mrs Lammle. ‘Am I already corroborated, Bella?’
‘Never mind, Sophronia, we will not speak of it any more. Don’t ask me
about it.’
This plainly meaning Do ask me about it, Mrs Lammle did as she was
requested.
‘Tell me, Bella. Come, my dear. What provoking burr has been
inconveniently attracted to the charming skirts, and with difficulty
shaken off?’
‘Provoking indeed,’ said Bella, ‘and no burr to boast of! But don’t ask
me.’
‘Shall I guess?’
‘You would never guess. What would you say to our Secretary?’
‘My dear! The hermit Secretary, who creeps up and down the back stairs,
and is never seen!’
‘I don’t know about his creeping up and down the back stairs,’ said
Bella, rather contemptuously, ‘further than knowing that he does no such
thing; and as to his never being seen, I should be content never to have
seen him, though he is quite as visible as you are. But I pleased HIM
(for my sins) and he had the presumption to tell me so.’
‘The man never made a declaration to you, my dear Bella!’
‘Are you sure of that, Sophronia?’ said Bella. ‘I am not. In fact, I am
sure of the contrary.’
‘The man must be mad,’ said Mrs Lammle, with a kind of resignation.
‘He appeared to be in his senses,’ returned Bella, tossing her head,
‘and he had plenty to say for himself. I told him my opinion of his
declaration and his conduct, and dismissed him. Of course this has all
been very inconvenient to me, and very disagreeable. It has remained a
secret, however. That word reminds me to observe, Sophronia, that I have
glided on into telling you the secret, and that I rely upon you never to
mention it.’
‘Mention it!’ repeated Mrs Lammle with her former feeling. ‘Men-tion
it!’
This time Sophronia was so much in earnest that she found it necessary
to bend forward in the carriage and give Bella a kiss. A Judas order of
kiss; for she thought, while she yet pressed Bella’s hand after giving
it, ‘Upon your own showing, you vain heartless girl, puffed up by the
doting folly of a dustman, I need have no relenting towards YOU. If my
husband, who sends me here, should form any schemes for making YOU a
victim, I should certainly not cross him again.’ In those very same
moments, Bella was thinking, ‘Why am I always at war with myself? Why
have I told, as if upon compulsion, what I knew all along I ought to
have withheld? Why am I making a friend of this woman beside me, in
spite of the whispers against her that I hear in my heart?’