“You are very kind, ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick.
“In the first place, here are my little girls; I had almost forgotten them,” said Minerva, carelessly pointing towards a couple of full-grown young ladies, of whom one might be about twenty, and the other a year or two older, and who were dressed in very juvenile costumes—whether to make them look young, or their mamma younger, Mr. Pickwick does not distinctly inform us.
“They are very beautiful,” said Mr. Pickwick, as the juveniles turned away, after being presented.
“They are very like their mamma, sir,” said Mr. Pott, majestically.
“Oh you naughty man!” exclaimed Mrs. Leo Hunter, playfully tapping the editor’s arm with her fan (Minerva with a fan!).
“Why now, my dear Mrs. Hunter,” said Mr. Pott, who was trumpeter in ordinary at the Den, “you know that when your picture was in the Exhibition at the Royal Academy, last year, everybody inquired whether it was intended for you, or your youngest daughter; for you were so much alike that there was no telling the difference between you.”
“Well, and if they did, why need you repeat it, before strangers?” said Mrs. Leo Hunter, bestowing another tap on the slumbering lion of the Eatanswill Gazette.
“Count, Count!” screamed Mrs. Leo Hunter to a well-whiskered individual in a foreign uniform, who was passing by.
“Ah! you want me?” said the Count, turning back.
“I want to introduce two very clever people to each other,” said Mrs. Leo Hunter. “Mr. Pickwick, I have great pleasure in introducing you to Count Smorltork.” She added in a hurried whisper to Mr. Pickwick—“the famous foreigner—gathering materials for his great work on England—hem!—Count Smorltork, Mr. Pickwick.”