“Yes; raly now, honour bright,” said the man in blue. “I made a promese to fetch our youngest daughter at half-past ten, and she is such an uncauminly fine gal, that I raly hadn’t the ’art to disappint her. No offence to the present company, Sir, but a petticut, sir⁠—a petticut, Sir, is irrevokeable.”

“I begin to suspect there’s something in that quarter,” said Tuckle, as the newcomer took his seat next Sam, “I’ve remarked, once or twice, that she leans very heavy on your shoulder when she gets in and out of the carriage.”

“Oh, raly, raly, Tuckle, you shouldn’t,” said the man in blue. “It’s not fair. I may have said to one or two friends that she wos a very divine creechure, and had refused one or two offers without any hobvus cause, but⁠—no, no, no, indeed, Tuckle⁠—before strangers, too⁠—it’s not right⁠—you shouldn’t. Delicacy, my dear friend, delicacy!” And the man in blue, pulling up his neckerchief, and adjusting his coat cuffs, nodded and frowned as if there were more behind, which he could say if he liked, but was bound in honour to suppress.