whispered the spinster aunt, with true spinster-aunt-like envy, to her brother Mr. Wardle.
"Oh! I don't know," said the jolly old gentleman; "all very natural, I dare say—nothing unusual. Mr. Pickwick, some wine, sir?" Mr. Pickwick, who had been deeply investigating the interior of the pigeon-pie, readily assented.
"Emily, my dear," said the spinster aunt, with a patronising air, "don't talk so loud, love."
"Lor, aunt!"
"Aunt and the little old gentleman want to have it all to themselves, I think," whispered Miss Isabella Wardle to her sister Emily. The young ladies laughed very heartily, and the old one tried to look amiable, but couldn't manage it.
"Young girls have such spirits," said Miss Wardle to Mr. Tupman, with an air of gentle commiseration, as if animal spirits were contraband, and their possession without a permit, a high crime and misdemeanour.
"Oh, they have," replied Mr. Tupman, not exactly making the sort of reply that was expected from him. "It's quite delightful."
"Hem!" said Miss Wardle, rather dubiously.
"Will you permit me," said Mr. Tupman, in his blandest manner, touching the enchanting Rachael's wrist with one hand, and gently elevating the bottle with the other. "Will you permit me?"
"Oh, sir!" Mr. Tupman looked most impressive; and Rachael expressed her fear that more guns were going off, in which case, of course, she would have required support again.
"Do you think my dear nieces pretty?" whispered their affectionate aunt to Mr. Tupman.
"I should, if their aunt wasn't here," replied the ready Pickwickian, with a passionate glance.
"Oh, you naughty man—but really, if their complexions were a little little better, don't you think they would be nice-looking girls—by candle-light?"
