"I can't speak to you just now, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "I am engaged, at this moment, Sam."
"Beg your pardon, sir," rejoined Mr. Weller. "But here's a lady here, sir, as says she's somethin' wery partickler to disclose."
"I can't see any lady," replied Mr. Pickwick, whose mind was filled with visions of Mrs. Bardell.
"I vouldn't make too sure o' that, sir," urged Mr. Weller, shaking his head. "If you know'd who was near, ir, I rayther think you'd change your note. As the hawk remarked to himself with a cheerful laugh, ven he heerd the robin redbreast a singin' round the corner."
"Who is it?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Will you see her, sir?" asked Mr. Weller, holding the door in his hand as if he had some curious live animal on the other side.
"I suppose I must," said Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker.
"Well then, all in to begin!" cried Sam. "Sound the gong, draw up the curtain, and enter the two con-spiraytors."
As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there rushed tumultuously into the room, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle: leading after him by the hand, the identical young lady who at Dingley Dell had worn the boots with the fur round the tops, and who, now a very pleasing compound of blushes and confusion and lilac silk and a smart bonnet and a rich lace veil, looked prettier than ever.
"Miss Arabella Allen!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, rising from his chair.
"No," replied Mr. Winkle, dropping on his knees, "Mrs. Winkle. Pardon, my dear friend, pardon?"
Mr. Pickwick could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses, and perhaps would not have done so, but for the corroborative testimony afforded by the smiling countenance of Perker, and the bodily presence, in the background, of Sam and the pretty housemaid; who appeared to contemplate the proceedings with the liveliest satisfaction.
