“My dear sir,” said the little man, in a low tone, taking Mr. Wardle and Mr. Pickwick apart: “My dear sir, we’re in a very awkward situation. It’s a distressing case—very; I never knew one more so; but really, my dear sir, really we have no power to control this lady’s actions. I warned you before we came, my dear sir, that there was nothing to look to but a compromise.”
There was a short pause.
“What kind of compromise would you recommend?” inquired Mr. Pickwick.
“Why, my dear sir, our friend’s in an unpleasant position—very much so. We must be content to suffer some pecuniary loss.”
“I’ll suffer any, rather than submit to this disgrace, and let her, fool as she is, be made miserable for life,” said Wardle.
“I rather think it can be done,” said the bustling little man. “Mr. Jingle, will you step with us into the next room for a moment?”
Mr. Jingle assented, and the quartette walked into an empty apartment.
“Now, sir,” said the little man, as he carefully closed the door, “is there no way of accommodating this matter?—step this way, sir, for a moment—into this window, sir, where we can be alone—there sir, there, pray sit down, sir. Now, my dear sir, between you and I, we know very well, my dear sir, that you have run off with this lady for the sake of her money. Don’t frown, sir, don’t frown; I say, between you and I, we know it. We are both men of the world, and we know very well that our friends here, are not—eh?”
Mr. Jingle’s face gradually relaxed; and something distantly resembling a wink quivered for an instant in his left eye.