He was officially accessible to every blundering old woman who had incoherence to bestow upon him, and readily received the Boffins.
He was quite a young man, expensively educated and wretchedly paid, with quite a young wife and half a dozen quite young children.

He was under the necessity of teaching and translating from the classics, to eke out his scanty means, yet was generally expected to have more time to spare than the idlest person in the parish, and more money than the richest.
He accepted the needless inequalities and inconsistencies of his life, with a kind of conventional submission that was almost slavish; and any daring layman who would have adjusted such burdens as his, more decently and graciously, would have had small help from him.
With a ready patient face and manner, and yet with a latent smile that showed a quick enough observation of Mrs Boffin's dress, Mr Milvey, in his little book-room--charged with sounds and cries as though the six children above were coming down through the ceiling, and the roasting leg of mutton below were coming up through the floor--listened to Mrs Boffin's statement of her want of an orphan.
'I think,' said Mr Milvey, 'that you have never had a child of your own, Mr and Mrs Boffin ?' Never.
'But, like the Kings and Queens in the Fairy Tales, I suppose you have wished for one ?' In a general way, yes.
Mr Milvey smiled again, as he remarked to himself 'Those kings and queens were always wishing for children.' It occurring to him, perhaps, that if they had been Curates, their wishes might have tended in the opposite direction.
'I think,' he pursued, 'we had better take Mrs Milvey into our Council.
She is indispensable to me.

If you please, I'll call her.' So, Mr Milvey called, 'Margaretta, my dear!' and Mrs Milvey came down.
A pretty, bright little woman, something worn by anxiety, who had repressed many pretty tastes and bright fancies, and substituted in their stead, schools, soup, flannel, coals, and all the week-day cares and Sunday coughs of a large population, young and old.

As gallantly had Mr Milvey repressed much in himself that naturally belonged to his old studies and old fellow-students, and taken up among the poor and their children with the hard crumbs of life.
'Mr and Mrs Boffin, my dear, whose good fortune you have heard of.' Mrs Milvey, with the most unaffected grace in the world, congratulated them, and was glad to see them.

Yet her engaging face, being an open as well as a perceptive one, was not without her husband's latent smile.
'Mrs Boffin wishes to adopt a little boy, my dear.' Mrs Milvey, looking rather alarmed, her husband added: 'An orphan, my dear.' 'Oh!' said Mrs Milvey, reassured for her own little boys.
'And I was thinking, Margaretta, that perhaps old Mrs Goody's grandchild might answer the purpose.
'Oh my DEAR Frank! I DON'T think that would do!' 'No ?' 'Oh NO!' The smiling Mrs Boffin, feeling it incumbent on her to take part in the conversation, and being charmed with the emphatic little wife and her ready interest, here offered her acknowledgments and inquired what there was against him?
'I DON'T think,' said Mrs Milvey, glancing at the Reverend Frank'-- and I believe my husband will agree with me when he considers it again--that you could possibly keep that orphan clean from snuff.