Pickwick, with great vehemence. "Who ever saw me with her? Not even my friends here———"
"Except on one occasion," said Mr. Tupman.
Mr. Pickwick changed colour.
"Ah," said Mr. Wardle. "Well, that's important. There was nothing suspicious then, I suppose?"
Mr. Tupman glanced timidly at his leader. "Why," said he, "there was nothing suspicious; but I don't know how it happened, mind—she certainly was reclining in his arms."
"Gracious powers!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, as the recollection of the scene in question struck forcibly upon him; "what a dreadful instance of the force of circumstances! So she was—so she was."
"And our friend was soothing her anguish," said Mr. Winkle, rather maliciously.
"So I was," said Mr. Pickwick. "I won't deny it. So I was."
"Hallo!" said Wardle; "for a case in which there's nothing suspicious, this looks rather queer-eh, Pickwick? Ah, sly dog-sly dog!" and he laughed till the glasses on the side-board rang again.
"What a dreadful conjunction of appearances!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, resting his chin upon his hands. "Winkle—Tupman—I beg your pardon for the observations I made just now. We are all the victims of circumstances, and I the greatest." With this apology Mr. Pickwick buried his head in his hands, and ruminated; while Wardle measured out a regular circle of nods and winks, addressed to the other members of the company.
"I'll have it explained, though," said Mr. Pickwick, raising his head and hammering the table. "I'll see this Dodson and Fogg! I'll go to London to-morrow."
"Not to-morrow," said Wardle; "you're too lame."
"Well, then, next day."
"Next day is the first of September, and you're pledged to ride out with us, as far as Sir Geoffrey Manning's grounds,
