his hand on his coat collar; but Mr Venus, begging pardon, sits down
again, saying, with the calmness of despair, 'She objects to the
business.'

'Does she know the profits of it?'

'She knows the profits of it, but she don't appreciate the art of
it, and she objects to it. "I do not wish," she writes in her own
handwriting, "to regard myself, nor yet to be regarded, in that boney
light".'

Mr Venus pours himself out more tea, with a look and in an attitude of
the deepest desolation.

'And so a man climbs to the top of the tree, Mr Wegg, only to see that
there's no look-out when he's up there! I sit here of a night surrounded
by the lovely trophies of my art, and what have they done for me? Ruined
me. Brought me to the pass of being informed that "she does not wish to
regard herself, nor yet to be regarded, in that boney light"!' Having
repeated the fatal expressions, Mr Venus drinks more tea by gulps, and
offers an explanation of his doing so.

'It lowers me. When I'm equally lowered all over, lethargy sets in. By
sticking to it till one or two in the morning, I get oblivion. Don't let
me detain you, Mr Wegg. I'm not company for any one.'

'It is not on that account,' says Silas, rising, 'but because I've got
an appointment. It's time I was at Harmon's.'

'Eh?' said Mr Venus. 'Harmon's, up Battle Bridge way?'