He stopped at Mr. Dowler’s door, according to custom, and knocked to say good night.

“Ah!” said Dowler, “going to bed? I wish I was. Dismal night. Windy; isn’t it?”

“Very,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Mr. Pickwick went to his bedchamber, and Mr. Dowler resumed his seat before the fire, in fulfilment of his rash promise to sit up till his wife came home.