“I beg your pardon, Ma’am?” said Mr. Boffin, coming to a stop.

“It is Mrs. Lammle,” said the lady.

Mr. Boffin went up to the window, and hoped Mrs. Lammle was well.

“Not very well, dear Mr. Boffin; I have fluttered myself by being⁠—perhaps foolishly⁠—uneasy and anxious. I have been waiting for you some time. Can I speak to you?”

Mr. Boffin proposed that Mrs. Lammle should drive on to his house, a few hundred yards further.