“I won’t be taken away,” murmured the spinster aunt. “I don’t wish it.” (Here there was a frightful relapse.)

“My dear Sir,” said the little man, in a low tone, taking Mr. Wardle and Mr. Pickwick apart⁠—“my dear Sir, we’re in a very awkward situation. It’s a distressing case⁠—very; I never knew one more so; but really, my dear sir, really we have no power to control this lady’s actions. I warned you before we came, my dear sir, that there was nothing to look to but a compromise.”

There was a short pause.

“What kind of compromise would you recommend?” inquired Mr. Pickwick.