“Stop!” shouted Wardle. “Why, in the name of all that’s⁠—”

“Inflammable,” mildly suggested Mr. Pickwick, who thought something worse was coming.

“Well⁠—that’s inflammable,” said Wardle, adopting the substitute; “couldn’t you say all this to me in the first instance?”

“Or confide in me?” added Mr. Pickwick.

“Dear, dear,” said Arabella, taking up the defence, “what is the use of asking all that now, especially when you know you had set your covetous old heart on a richer son-in-law, and are so wild and fierce besides, that everybody is afraid of you, except me? Shake hands with him, and order him some dinner, for goodness gracious’ sake, for he looks half starved; and pray have your wine up at once, for you’ll not be tolerable until you have taken two bottles at least.”