“Well, Caddy,” said I, turning to her, “perhaps you will not be surprised when I tell you, my dear, that there never has been any engagement—”
“No proposal or promise of marriage whatsoever,” suggested Mr. Guppy.
“No proposal or promise of marriage whatsoever,” said I, “between this gentleman—”
“William Guppy, of Penton Place, Pentonville, in the county of Middlesex,” he murmured.
“Between this gentleman, Mr. William Guppy, of Penton Place, Pentonville, in the county of Middlesex, and myself.”
“Thank you, miss,” said Mr. Guppy. “Very full—er—excuse me—lady’s name, Christian and surname both?”
I gave them.
“Married woman, I believe?” said Mr. Guppy. “Married woman. Thank you. Formerly Caroline Jellyby, spinster, then of Thavies Inn, within the city of London, but extra-parochial; now of Newman Street, Oxford Street. Much obliged.”
He ran home and came running back again.
“Touching that matter, you know, I really and truly am very sorry that my arrangements in life, combined with circumstances over which I have no control, should prevent a renewal of what was wholly terminated some time back,” said Mr. Guppy to me forlornly and despondently, “but it couldn’t be. Now could it, you know! I only put it to you.”
I replied it certainly could not. The subject did not admit of a doubt. He thanked me and ran to his mother’s again—and back again.