Mrs Boffin seated Bella on the large ottoman, and seated herself beside her, and John her husband seated himself on the other side of her, and Mr Boffin stood beaming at every one and everything he could see, with surpassing jollity and enjoyment. Mrs Boffin was then taken with a laughing fit of clapping her hands, and clapping her knees, and rocking herself to and fro, and then with another laughing fit of embracing Bella, and rocking her to and fro—both fits, of considerable duration.
‘Old lady, old lady,’ said Mr Boffin, at length; ‘if you don’t begin somebody else must.’
‘I’m a going to begin, Noddy, my dear,’ returned Mrs Boffin. ‘Only it isn’t easy for a person to know where to begin, when a person is in this state of delight and happiness. Bella, my dear. Tell me, who’s this?’
‘Who is this?’ repeated Bella. ‘My husband.’
‘Ah! But tell me his name, deary!’ cried Mrs Boffin.
‘Rokesmith.’
‘No, it ain’t!’ cried Mrs Boffin, clapping her hands, and shaking her head. ‘Not a bit of it.’
‘Handford then,’ suggested Bella.
‘No, it ain’t!’ cried Mrs Boffin, again clapping her hands and shaking her head. ‘Not a bit of it.’
‘At least, his name is John, I suppose?’ said Bella.