“Who is he, you scoundrel,” interposed Wardle. “He’s my lawyer, Mr. Perker, of Gray’s Inn. Perker, I’ll have this fellow prosecuted⁠—indicted⁠—I’ll⁠—I’ll⁠—I’ll ruin him. And you,” continued Mr. Wardle, turning abruptly round to his sister⁠—“you, Rachael, at a time of life when you ought to know better, what do you mean by running away with a vagabond, disgracing your family, and making yourself miserable? Get on your bonnet and come back. Call a hackney-coach there, directly, and bring this lady’s bill, d’ye hear⁠—d’ye hear?”

“Cert’nly, Sir,” replied Sam, who had answered Wardle’s violent ringing of the bell with a degree of celerity which must have appeared marvellous to anybody who didn’t know that his eye had been applied to the outside of the keyhole during the whole interview.

“Get on your bonnet,” repeated Wardle.