"Of course—she don't like it—but must be done—avert suspicion—afraid of her brother—says there's no help for it—only a few days more-when old folks blinded—crown your happiness."
"Any message?"
"Love—best love—kindest regards—unalterable affection. Can I say anything for you?"
"My dear fellow," replied the unsuspicious Mr. Tupman, fervently grasping his "friend's" hand-"carry my best love—say how hard I find it to dissemble—say anything that's kind; but add how sensible I am of the necessity of the suggestion she made to me, through you, this morning. Say I applaud her wisdom and admire her discretion."
"I will. Anything more?"
"Nothing; only add how ardently I long for the time when I may call her mine, and all dissimulation may be unnecessary.
"Certainly, certainly. Anything more?"
"Oh, my friend!" said poor Mr. Tupman, again grasping the hand of his companion, "receive my warmest thanks for your disinterested kindness; and forgive me if I have ever, even in thought, done you the injustice of supposing that you could stand in my way. My dear friend, can I ever repay you?"
"Don't talk of it," replied Mr. Jingle. He stopped short, as if suddenly recollecting something, and said"—"By-the-bye—can't spare ten pounds, can you?—very particular purpose—pay you in three days."
"I dare say I can," replied Mr. Tupman, in the fulness of his heart. "Three days, you say?"
"Only three days—all over then—no more difficulties."
Mr. Tupman counted the money into his companion's hand, and he dropped it piece by piece into his pocket, as they walked towards the house.
"Be careful," said Mr. Jingle—"not a look."
"Not a wink," said Mr. Tupman.
