'
'Glad of it,' said Dowler. 'I woke this morning. I had forgotten
my threat. I laughed at the accident. I felt friendly. I said so.'
'To whom?' inquired Mr. Winkle.
'To Mrs. Dowler. "You made a vow," said she. "I did," said I.
"It was a rash one," said she. "It was," said I. "I'll apologise.
Where is he?"'
'Who?' inquired Mr. Winkle.
'You,' replied Dowler. 'I went downstairs. You were not to be
found. Pickwick looked gloomy. Shook his head. Hoped no
violence would be committed. I saw it all. You felt yourself
insulted. You had gone, for a friend perhaps. Possibly for pistols.
"High spirit," said I. "I admire him."'
Mr. Winkle coughed, and beginning to see how the land lay,
assumed a look of importance.
'I left a note for you,' resumed Dowler. 'I said I was sorry. So
I was. Pressing business called me here. You were not satisfied.
You followed. You required a verbal explanation. You were
right. It's all over now. My business is finished. I go back
to-morrow. Join me.'
As Dowler progressed in his explanation, Mr. Winkle's
countenance grew more and more dignified. The mysterious
nature of the commencement of their conversation was
explained; Mr.
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