“Half-past nine⁠—just the time⁠—off at once”; said the gentleman, whom we need hardly introduce as Mr. Jingle.

“Time⁠—for what?” said the spinster aunt coquettishly.

“Licence, dearest of angels⁠—give notice at the church⁠—call you mine, tomorrow”⁠—said Mr. Jingle, and he squeezed the spinster aunt’s hand.

“The licence!” said Rachael, blushing.

“The licence,” repeated Mr. Jingle⁠—