But Mr Pecksniff looked quite stern and angry; and when she had concluded, said in a solemn voice: 'Pray, Mrs Todgers, if I may inquire, what does that young gentleman contribute towards the support of these premises ?' 'Why, sir, for what HE has, he pays about eighteen shillings a week!' said Mrs Todgers.
'Eighteen shillings a week!' repeated Mr Pecksniff.
'Taking one week with another; as near that as possible,' said Mrs Todgers.
Mr Pecksniff rose from his chair, folded his arms, looked at her, and shook his head.
'And do you mean to say, ma'am--is it possible, Mrs Todgers--that for such a miserable consideration as eighteen shillings a week, a female of your understanding can so far demean herself as to wear a double face, even for an instant ?' 'I am forced to keep things on the square if I can, sir,' faltered Mrs Todgers.

'I must preserve peace among them, and keep my connection together, if possible, Mr Pecksniff.

The profit is very small.' 'The profit!' cried that gentleman, laying great stress upon the word.
'The profit, Mrs Todgers! You amaze me!' He was so severe, that Mrs Todgers shed tears.
'The profit!' repeated Mr pecksniff.

'The profit of dissimulation! To worship the golden calf of Baal, for eighteen shillings a week!' 'Don't in your own goodness be too hard upon me, Mr Pecksniff,' cried Mrs Todgers, taking out her handkerchief.
'Oh Calf, Calf!' cried Mr Pecksniff mournfully.

'Oh, Baal, Baal! oh my friend, Mrs Todgers! To barter away that precious jewel, self-esteem, and cringe to any mortal creature--for eighteen shillings a week!' He was so subdued and overcome by the reflection, that he immediately took down his hat from its peg in the passage, and went out for a walk, to compose his feelings.