"You will convince yourself?" said Jingle.
"I will."
"You'll show your spirit?
"I will."
"You'll not have him afterwards?"
"Never."
"You'll take somebody else?"
"Yes."
"You shall."
Mr. Jingle fell on his knees, remained thereupon for five minutes thereafter: and rose the accepted lover of the spinster aunt: conditionally upon Mr. Tupman's perjury being made clear and manifest.
The burden of proof lay with Mr. Alfred Jingle; and he produced his evidence that very day at dinner. The spinster aunt could hardly believe her eyes. Mr. Tracy Tupman was established at Emily's side, ogling, whispering, and smiling, in opposition to Mr. Snodgrass. Not a word, not a look, not a glance, did he bestow upon his heart's pride of the evening before.
"Damn that boy!" thought old Mr. Wardle to himself.—He had heard the story from his mother. "Damn that boy! He must have been asleep. It's all imagination."
"Traitor!" thought the spinster aunt.
"Dear Mr. Jingle was not deceiving me. Ugh! how I hate the wretch!"
The following conversation may serve to explain to our readers this apparently unaccountable alteration of deportment on the part of Mr. Tracy Tupman.
The time was evening; the scene the garden. There were two figures walking in a side path; one was rather short and stout; the other rather tall and slim. They were Mr. Tupman and Mr. Jingle. The stout figure commenced the dialogue.
"How did I do it?" he inquired.
"Splendid—capital—couldn't act better myself—you must repeat the part to-morrow—every evening, till further notice."
"Does Rachael still wish it?"
