It was an impressive tableau. Alfred Jingle, Esquire, alias Captain Fitz-Marshall, was standing near the door with his hat in his hand, and a smile on his face, wholly unmoved by his very unpleasant situation. Confronting him, stood Mr. Pickwick, who had evidently been inculcating some high moral lesson; for his left hand was beneath his coat tail, and his right extended in air, as was his wont when delivering himself of an impressive address. At a little distance, stood Mr. Tupman with indignant countenance, carefully held back by his two younger friends; at the farther end of the room were Mr. Nupkins, Mrs. Nupkins, and Miss Nupkins, gloomily grand and savagely vexed.
‘What prevents me,’ said Mr. Nupkins, with magisterial dignity, as Job was brought in—‘what prevents me from detaining these men as rogues and impostors? It is a foolish mercy. What prevents me?’
‘Pride, old fellow, pride,’ replied Jingle, quite at his ease. ‘Wouldn’t do—no go—caught a captain, eh?—ha! ha! very good—husband for daughter—biter bit—make it public—not for worlds—look stupid—very!’
‘Wretch,’ said Mr. Nupkins, ‘we scorn your base insinuations.’
‘I always hated him,’ added Henrietta.
‘Oh, of course,’ said Jingle. ‘Tall young man—old lover—Sidney Porkenham—rich—fine fellow—not so rich as captain, though, eh?—turn him away—off with him—anything for captain—nothing like captain anywhere—all the girls—raving mad—eh, Job, eh?’
Here Mr. Jingle laughed very heartily; and Job, rubbing his hands with delight, uttered the first sound he had given vent to since he entered the house—a low, noiseless chuckle, which seemed to intimate that he enjoyed his laugh too much, to let any of it escape in sound.
‘Mr. Nupkins,’ said the elder lady,’ this is not a fit conversation for the servants to overhear. Let these wretches be removed.’
‘Certainly, my dear,’ Said Mr. Nupkins. ‘Muzzle!’
‘Your Worship.’