‘Mr. Pickwick, mother,’ said Mr. Wardle, at the very top of his voice.
‘Ah!’ said the old lady, shaking her head; ‘I can’t hear you.’
‘Mr. Pickwick, grandma!’ screamed both the young ladies together.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed the old lady. ‘Well, it don’t much matter. He don’t care for an old ‘ooman like me, I dare say.’
‘I assure you, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, grasping the old lady’s hand, and speaking so loud that the exertion imparted a crimson hue to his benevolent countenance—‘I assure you, ma’am, that nothing delights me more than to see a lady of your time of life heading so fine a family, and looking so young and well.’
‘Ah!’ said the old lady, after a short pause: ‘it’s all very fine, I dare say; but I can’t hear him.’
‘Grandma’s rather put out now,’ said Miss Isabella Wardle, in a low tone; ‘but she’ll talk to you presently.’
Mr. Pickwick nodded his readiness to humour the infirmities of age, and entered into a general conversation with the other members of the circle.
‘Delightful situation this,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Delightful!’ echoed Messrs. Snodgrass, Tupman, and Winkle.