"Wouldn't you? Well! I'll take that out. It's perfectly true, though."
"But it might seem ungracious, perhaps."
"Oh, I don't mind Pinch," said Martin. "There's no occasion to stand on any ceremony with him. However, I 'll take it out, as you wish it, and make the full stop 'at secrecy.' Very well!' I shall not only'—this is the letter again, you know."
"I understand."
"'I shall not only inclose my letters to the young lady of whom I have told you, to your charge, to be forwarded as she may request; but I most earnestly commit her, the young lady herself, to your care and regard, in the event of your meeting in my absence. I have reason to think that the probabilities of your encountering each other—perhaps very frequently—are now neither remote nor few; and although in your position you can do very little to lessen the uneasiness of hers, I trust to you implicitly to do that much, and so deserve the confidence I have reposed in you.' You see, my dear Mary," said Martin, "it will be a great consolation to you to have anybody, no matter how simple, with whom you can speak about me; and the very first time you talk to Pinch, you 'll feel at once, that there is no more occasion for any embarrassment or hesitation in talking to him, than if he were an old woman."
"However that may be," she returned, smiling, "he is your friend, and that is enough."
"Oh, yes, he's my friend," said Martin, "certainly. In fact, I have told him in so many words that we 'll always take notice of him, and protect him: and it's a good trait in his character that he's grateful—very grateful indeed. You 'll like him of all things, my love, I know. You 'll observe very much that's comical and old-fashioned about Pinch, but you needn't mind laughing at him; for he 'll not care about it. He 'll rather like it, indeed!"
"I don't think I shall put that to the test, Martin."
"You won't if you can help it, of course," he said, "but I think you'll find him a little too much for your gravity. However that's neither here nor there, and it certainly is not the letter; which ends thus: 'Knowing that I need not impress the nature and extent of that confidence upon you at any greater length, as it is already sufficiently established in your mind, I will only say in bidding you farewell, and looking forward to our next meeting, that I shall charge myself from this time, through all changes for the better, with your advancement and happiness, as if they were my own. You may rely upon that. And always believe me, my dear Tom Pinch, faithfully your friend, Martin Chuzzlewit. P.S. I enclose the amount which you so kindly'—Oh," said Martin, checking himself, and folding up the letter, 'that's nothing!"
At this crisis Mark Tapley interposed, with an apology for remarking that the clock at the Horse Guards was striking.
"Which I shouldn't have said nothing about, sir," added Mark, "if the young lady hadn't begged me to be particular in mentioning it."
