‘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 wouldn’t make too sure o’ that, Sir,’ urged Mr. Weller, shaking his head. ‘If you know’d who was near, sir, I rayther think you’d change your note; as the hawk remarked to himself vith 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 conspiraytors.’
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.