“It would be too much for one,” murmured the lady.
“But not for two, ma’am,” rejoined Mr. Bumble, in soft accents. “Eh, Mrs. Corney?”
Mrs. Corney drooped her head, when the beadle said this; the beadle drooped his, to get a view of Mrs. Corney’s face. Mrs. Corney, with great propriety, turned her head away, and released her hand to get at her pocket-handkerchief; but insensibly replaced it in that of Mr. Bumble.
“The board allows you coals, don’t they, Mrs. Corney?” inquired the beadle, affectionately pressing her hand.
“And candles,” replied Mrs. Corney, slightly returning the pressure.
“Coals, candles, and house-rent free,” said Mr. Bumble. “Oh, Mrs. Corney, what an Angel you are!”
The lady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She sank into Mr. Bumble’s arms; and that gentleman in his agitation, imprinted a passionate kiss upon her chaste nose.
“Such porochial perfection!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, rapturously. “You know that Mr. Slout is worse tonight, my fascinator?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Corney, bashfully.
“He can’t live a week, the doctor says,” pursued Mr. Bumble. “He is the master of this establishment; his death will cause a wacancy; that wacancy must be filled up. Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a prospect this opens! What a opportunity for a jining of hearts and housekeepings!”
Mrs. Corney sobbed.
“The little word?” said Mr. Bumble, bending over the bashful beauty. “The one little, little, little word, my blessed Corney?”