“But bless ye, my beauty!” cried Mrs. Boffin, taking him up short at this point, with another hearty clap of her hands. “It wasn’t John only that was in it. We was all of us in it.”

“I don’t,” said Bella, looking vacantly from one to another, “yet understand⁠—”

“Of course you don’t, my deary,” exclaimed Mrs. Boffin. “How can you till you’re told! So now I am a going to tell you. So you put your two hands between my two hands again,” cried the comfortable creature, embracing her, “with that blessed little picter lying on your lap, and you shall be told all the story. Now, I’m a going to tell the story. Once, twice, three times, and the horses is off. Here they go! When I cries out that night, ‘I know you now, you’re John!’⁠—which was my exact words; wasn’t they, John?”

“Your exact words,” said John, laying his hand on hers.