mfortable, being pervaded by a certain air of homely snugness, which
upholstering despotism had banished to that spot when it inexorably set
its face against Mr Boffin's appeals for mercy in behalf of any other
chamber. Thus, although a room of modest situation--for its windows gave
on Silas Wegg's old corner--and of no pretensions to velvet, satin, or
gilding, it had got itself established in a domestic position analogous
to that of an easy dressing-gown or pair of slippers; and whenever the
family wanted to enjoy a particularly pleasant fireside evening, they
enjoyed it, as an institution that must be, in Mr Boffin's room.

Mr and Mrs Boffin were reported sitting in this room, when Bella got
back. Entering it, she found the Secretary there too; in official
attendance it would appear, for he was standing with some papers in his
hand by a table with shaded candles on it, at which Mr Boffin was seated
thrown back in his easy chair.

'You are busy, sir,' said Bella, hesitating at the door.

'Not at all, my dear, not at all. You're one of ourselves. We never
make company of you. Come in, come in. Here's the old lady in her usual
place.'

Mrs Boffin adding her nod and smile of welcome to Mr Boffin's words,
Bella took her book to a chair in the fireside corner, by Mrs Boffin's
work-table. Mr Boffin's station was on the opposite side.

'Now, Rokesmith,' said the Golden Dustman, so sharply rapping the table
to bespeak his attention as Bella turned the leaves of her book, that
she started; 'where were we?'

'You were saying, sir,' returned the Secretary, with an air of some
reluctance and a glance towards those others who were present, 'that you
considered the time had come for fixing my salary.'

'Don't be above calling it wages, man,' said Mr Boffin, testily. 'What
the deuce! I never talked of any salary when I was in service.'

'My wages,' said the Secretary, correcting himself.

'Rokesmith, you are not proud, I hope?' observed Mr Boffin, eyeing him
askance.

'I hope not, sir.'

'Because I never was, when I was poor,' said Mr Boffin. 'Poverty and
pride don't go at all well together. Mind that. How can they go well
together? Why it stands to reason. A man, being poor, has nothing to be
proud of. It's nonsense.'

With a slight inclination of his head, and a look of some surprise,
the Secretary seemed to assent by forming the syllables of the word
'nonsense' on his lips.

'Now, concerning these same wages,' said