'Bless my soul!' thought Mr. Pickwick, 'what a dreadful thing!'
'Hem!' said the lady; and in went Mr. Pickwick's head with
automaton-like rapidity.
'I never met with anything so awful as this,' thought poor
Mr. Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops upon his
nightcap. 'Never. This is fearful.'
It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what
was going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The
prospect was worse than before. The middle-aged lady had
finished arranging her hair; had carefully enveloped it in a muslin
nightcap with a small plaited border; and was gazing pensively
on the fire.
'This matter is growing alarming,' reasoned Mr. Pickwick with
himself. 'I can't allow things to go on in this way. By the self-
possession of that lady, it is clear to me that I must have come
into the wrong room. If I call out she'll alarm the house; but if I
remain here the consequences will be still more frightful.'
Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the
most modest and delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of
exhibiting his nightcap to a lady overpowered him, but he had
tied those confounded strings in a knot, and, do what he would,
he couldn't get it off.
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