But in the year 1865 an important event happened. Mr Pudster and Mr Maggleby ran down by train one evening to see the fireworks at the Crystal Palace; and on their return journey they found themselves in a compartment the only other occupant of which was a remarkably buxom and cheery-looking widow of about forty years of age. The two gentlemen, with their accustomed gallantry, entered into conversation with her. They discovered that she and they had several friends in common, and that she was, in fact, a certain Mrs Bunter, whose many domestic virtues and abounding good-nature had often been spoken of in their hearing. They were charmed with her; they begged, as if with one accord, to be permitted to call upon her at her house in Chelsea; and when, after putting her into a cab at Victoria Station, they started off to walk home, they simultaneously exclaimed with enthusiasm: ‘What a splendid woman!’
‘Ah, Gideon!’ ejaculated Mr Pudster sentimentally, a few moments later.
‘Ah, Solomon!’ responded Mr Maggleby with equal passion.
‘If only we had such an angel at home to welcome us!’ continued the senior partner.
‘Just what I was thinking,’ assented Mr Maggleby, who thereupon looked up at the moon and sighed profoundly.
‘No other woman ever affected us in this way, Gideon,’ said Mr Pudster; ‘and here we are at fifty’——
‘Fifty last May, Solomon.’
‘Well, we ought to know better!’ exclaimed Mr Pudster with honest warmth.
‘So we ought, Solomon.’
‘But upon my word and honour, Gideon, Mrs Bunter’s a magnificent specimen of her sex.’