But not even Mr. Pecksniff's guileless merriment could set such a party at their ease, or reconcile materials so utterly discordant and conflicting as those with which he had to deal. The unspeakable jealously and hatred which that night's explanation had sown in Charity's breast, was not to be so easily kept down; and more than once it showed itself in such intensity, as seemed to render a full disclosure of all the circumstances then and there, impossible to be avoided. The beauteous Merry, too, with all the glory of her conquest fresh upon her, so probed and lanced the rankling disappointment of her sister by her capricious airs and thousand little trials of Mr. Jonas's obedience, that she almost goaded her into a fit of madness, and obliged her to retire from table in a burst of passion, hardly less vehement than that to which she had abandoned herself in the first tumult of her wrath. The constraint imposed upon the family by the presence among them for the first time of Mary Graham (for by that name old Martin Chuzzlewit had introduced her) did not at all improve this state of things: gentle and quiet though her manner was. Mr. Pecksniff's situation was peculiarly trying: for, what with having constantly to keep the peace between his daughters; to maintain a reasonable show of affection and unity in his household; to curb the growing ease and gaiety of Jonas, which vented itself in sundry insolences towards Mr. Pinch, and an indefinable coarseness of manner in reference to Mary (they being the two dependants); to make no mention at all of his having perpetually to conciliate his rich old relative, and to smooth down, or explain away, some of the ten thousand bad appearances and combinations of bad appearances, by which they were surrounded on that unlucky evening--what with having to do this, and it would be difficult to sum up how much more, without the least relief or assistance from anybody, it may be easily imagined that Mr. Pecksniff had in his enjoyment something more than that usual portion of alloy which is mixed up with the best of men's delights. Perhaps he had never in his life felt such relief as when old Martin, looking at his watch, announced that it was time to go.
`We have rooms,' he said, `at the Dragon, for the present. I have a fancy for the evening walk. The nights are dark just now: perhaps Mr. Pinch would not object to light us home?'
`My dear sir!' cried Pecksniff, `I shall be delighted. Merry, my child, the lantern.'
`The lantern, if you please, my dear,' said Martin; `but I couldn't think of taking your father out of doors to-night; and, to be brief, I won't.'
Mr. Pecksniff already had his hat in his hand, but it was so emphatically said that he paused.
`I take Mr. Pinch, or go alone,' said Martin. `Which shall it be?'
`It shall be Thomas, sir,' cried Pecksniff, `since you are so resolute upon it. Thomas, my friend, be very careful, if you please.'
Tom was in some need of this injunction, for he felt so nervous, and trembled to such a degree, that he found it difficult to hold the lantern.
How much more difficult when, at the old man's bidding she drew her hand through his, Tom Pinch's, arm!
`And so, Mr. Pinch,' said Martin, on the way, `you are very comfortably situated here; are you?'
Tom answered, with even more than his usual enthusiasm, that he was under obligations to Mr. Pecksniff which the devotion of a lifetime would but imperfectly repay.
`How long have you known my nephew?' asked Martin.
`Your nephew, sir?' faltered Tom.
`Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit,' said Mary.
`Oh dear, yes,' cried Tom, greatly relieved, for his mind was running upon Martin. `Certainly. I never spoke to him before to-night, sir!'
`Perhaps half a lifetime will suffice for the acknowledgment of his kindness,' observed the old man.
Tom felt that this was a rebuff for him, and could not but understand it as a left-handed hit at his employer. So he was silent. Mary felt that Mr. Pinch was not remarkable for presence of mind, and that he could not say too little under existing circumstances. So she was silent.
The old man, disgusted by what in his suspicious nature he considered a shameless and fulsome puff of Mr. Pecksniff, which was a part of Tom's hired service and in which he was determined to persevere, set him down at once for a deceitful, servile, miserable fawner. So he was silent.
And though they were all sufficiently uncomfortable, it is fair to say that Martin was perhaps the most so; for he had felt kindly towards Tom at first, and had been interested by his seeming simplicity.
`You're like the rest,' he thought, glancing at the face of the unconscious Tom. `You had nearly imposed upon me, but you have lost your labour. You are too zealous a toad-eater, and betray yourself, Mr. Pinch.'
During the whole remainder of the walk, not another word was spoken.
First among the meetings to which Tom had long looked forward with a beating heart, it was memorable for nothing but embarrassment and confusion. They parted at the Dragon door; and sighing as he extinguished the candle in the lantern, Tom turned back again over the gloomy fields.
As he approached the first stile, which was in a lonely part made very dark by a plantation of young firs, a man slipped past him and went on before. Coming to the stile he stopped, and took his seat upon it. Tom was rather startled, and for a moment stood still, but he stepped forward again immediately, and went close up to him.
It was Jonas; swinging his legs to and fro, sucking the head of a stick, and looking with a sneer at Tom.
`Good gracious me!' cried Tom, `who would have thought of its being you! You followed us, then?'
`What's that to you?' said Jonas. `Go to the devil!'
`You are not very civil, I think,' remarked Tom.
`Civil enough for you,' retorted Jonas. `Who are you?'
`One who has as good a right to common consideration as another,' said Tom mildly.
`You're a liar,' said Jonas. `You haven't a right to any consideration.