“Well, and how are you, sir?” said the stout gentleman, addressing Mr. Snodgrass with paternal anxiety. “Charming, eh? Well, that’s right⁠—that’s right. And how are you, sir (to Mr. Winkle)? Well, I am glad to hear you say you are well; very glad I am, to be sure. My daughters, gentlemen⁠—my gals these are; and that’s my sister, Miss Rachael Wardle. She’s a Miss, she is; and yet she ain’t a Miss⁠—eh, Sir, eh?” And the stout gentleman playfully inserted his elbow between the ribs of Mr. Pickwick, and laughed very heartily.

“Lor, brother!” said Miss Wardle, with a deprecating smile.