The old lady was seated with customary state in the front parlour, but

she was rather cross, and, by consequence, most particularly deaf.

She never went out herself, and like a great many other old ladies of

the same stamp, she was apt to consider it an act of domestic treason,

if anybody else took the liberty of doing what she couldn't. So, bless

her old soul, she sat as upright as she could, in her great chair, and

looked as fierce as might be - and that was benevolent after all.

Mother,' said Wardle, 'Mr Pickwick. You recollect him?'

Never mind,' replied the old lady, with great dignity. 'Don't trouble Mr

Pickwick about an old creetur like me. Nobody cares about me now,

and it's very nat'ral they shouldn't.' Here the old lady tossed her head,

and smoothed down her lavender-coloured silk dress with trembling

hands. 'Come, come, ma'am,' said Mr Pickwick, 'I can't let you cut an

old friend in this way. I have come down expressly to have a long talk,

and another rubber with you; and we'll show these boys and girls how

to dance a minuet, before they're eight-and- forty hours older.'

The old lady was rapidly giving way, but she did not like to do it all at

once; so she only said, 'Ah! I can't hear him!'

'Nonsense, mother,' said Wardle. 'Come, come, don't be cross, there's

a good soul. Recollect Bella; come, you must keep her spirits up, poor

girl.'

The good old lady heard this, for her lip quivered as her son said it.

But age has its little infirmities of temper, and she was not quite

brought round yet. So, she smoothed down the lavender-coloured

dress again, and turning to Mr Pickwick said, 'Ah, Mr Pickwick, young

people was very different, when I was a girl.'

No doubt of that, ma'am,' said Mr Pickwick, 'and that's the reason

why I would make much of the few that have any traces of the old

stock' - and saying this, Mr Pickwick gently pulled Bella towards him,

and bestowing a kiss upon her forehead, bade her sit down on the

little stool at her grandmother's feet. Whether the expression of her

countenance, as it was raised towards the old lady's face, called up a

thought of old times, or whether the old lady was touched by Mr

Pickwick's affectionate good-nature, or whatever was the cause, she

was fairly melted; so she threw herself on her granddaughter's neck,

and all the little ill-humour evaporated in a gush of silent tears.

A happy party they were, that night. Sedate and solemn were the

score of rubbers in which Mr Pickwick and the old lady played

together; uproarious was the mirth of the round table. Long after the

ladies had retired, did the hot elder wine, well qualified with brandy

and spice, go round, and round, and round again; and sound was the

The Pickwick Papers