about him, save and except the extreme redness of his cheeks.
"You are sure you did not, sir?" said Mr. Winkle, senior.
"Oh dear, yes, sir, quite," replied Bob.
"I thought you did, sir," rejoined the old gentleman, with indignant emphasis. "Perhaps you looked at me, sir?" he "Oh, no! sir, not at all," replied Bob, with extreme civility.
"I am very glad to hear it, sir," said Mr. Winkle, senior. Having frowned upon the abashed Bob with great magnificence, the old gentleman again brought the letter to the light, and began to read it seriously.
Mr. Pickwick eyed him intently as he turned from the bottom line of the first page to the top line of the second, and from the bottom of the second to the top of the third, and from the bottom of the third to the top of the fourth; but not the slightest alteration of countenance afforded a clue to the feelings with which he received the announcement of his son's marriage, which Mr. Pickwick knew was in the very first half-dozen lines.
He read the letter to the last word; folded it again with all the carefulness and precision of a man of business; and, just when Mr. Pickwick expected some great outbreak of feeling, dipped a pen in the inkstand, and said as quietly as if he were speaking on the most ordinary counting-house topic:
"What is Nathaniel's address, Mr. Pickwick?"
"The George and Vulture, at present," replied that gentleman.
"George and Vulture. Where is that?"
"George Yard, Lombard Street."
"In the City?"
"Yes."
The old gentleman methodically indorsed the address on the back of the letter; and then, placing it in the desk, which he locked, said as he got off the stool and put the bunch of keys in his pocket:
