“Dear me,” said Mr. Peter Magnus, “that’s very unpleasant. It is a lady, I presume? Eh? ah! Sly, Mr. Pickwick, sly. Well, Mr. Pickwick, sir, I wouldn’t probe your feelings for the world. Painful subjects, these, sir, very painful. Don’t mind me, Mr. Pickwick, if you wish to give vent to your feelings. I know what it is to be jilted, Sir; I have endured that sort of thing three or four times.”

“I am much obliged to you, for your condolence on what you presume to be my melancholy case,” said Mr. Pickwick, winding up his watch, and laying it on the table, “but⁠—”