“Nobody but you,” retorted Mrs. Pott, with asperity.
“You see, Mr. Pickwick,” said the host in explanation of his wife’s lament, “that we are in some measure cut off from many enjoyments and pleasures of which we might otherwise partake. My public station, as editor of the Eatanswill Gazette, the position which that paper holds in the country, my constant immersion in the vortex of politics——”
“P. my dear—” interposed Mrs. Pott.
“My life—” said the editor.
“I wish, my dear, you would endeavour to find some topic of conversation in which these gentlemen might take some rational interest.”
“But, my love,” said Mr. Pott, with great humility, “Mr. Pickwick does take an interest in it.”
“It’s well for him if he can,” said Mrs. Pott, emphatically; “I am wearied out of my life with your politics, and quarrels with the Independent, and nonsense. I am quite astonished, P., at your making such an exhibition of your absurdity.”
“But, my dear—” said Mr. Pott.
“Oh, nonsense, don’t talk to me;” said Mrs. Pott. “Do you play écarté, sir?”
“I shall be very happy to learn under your tuition,” replied Mr. Winkle.