'
'Who is it?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Will you see her, Sir?' asked Mr. Weller, holding the door in
his hand as if he had some curious live animal on the other side.
'I suppose I must,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker.
'Well then, all in to begin!' cried Sam. 'Sound the gong, draw
up the curtain, and enter the two conspiraytors.'
As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there
rushed tumultuously into the room, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle,
leading after him by the hand, the identical young lady who at
Dingley Dell had worn the boots with the fur round the tops, and
who, now a very pleasing compound of blushes and confusion,
and lilac silk, and a smart bonnet, and a rich lace veil, looked
prettier than ever.
'Miss Arabella Allen!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, rising from his chair.
'No,' replied Mr. Winkle, dropping on his knees. 'Mrs. Winkle.
Pardon, my dear friend, pardon!'
Mr. Pickwick could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses,
and perhaps would not have done so, but for the corroborative
testimony afforded by the smiling countenance of Perker, and the
bodily presence, in the background, of Sam and the pretty
housemaid; who appeared to contemplate the proceedings with
the liveliest satisfaction.
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