"Not till you say yes. You haven't told me. Will you have me for your husband?"
"No, I wont. I can't bear the sight of you. I have told you so a hundred times. You are a fright. Besides, I always thought you liked my sister best. We all thought so."
"But that wasn't my fault," said Jonas.
"Yes, it was: you know it was."
"Any trick is fair in love," said Jonas. "She may have thought I liked her best, but you didn't."
"I did!"
"No, you didn't. You never could have thought I liked her best, when you were by."
"There's no accounting for tastes," said Merry; "at least I didn't mean to say that. I don't know what I mean. Let me go to her."
"Say 'Yes,' and then I will."
"If I ever "brought myself to say so, it should only be, that I might hate and tease you all my life."
"That's as good," cried Jonas, "as saying it right out. It's a bargain, cousin. We 're a pair, if ever there was one."
This gallant speech was succeeded by a confused noise of kissing and slapping; and then the fair, but much dishevelled Merry, broke away, and followed in the footsteps of her sister.
Now, whether Mr. Pecksniff had been listening—which in one of his character appears impossible: or divined almost by inspiration what the matter was—which, in a man of his sagacity is far more probable: or happened by sheer good fortune to find himself in exactly the right place, at precisely the right time—which, under the special guardianship in which he lived might very reasonably happen: it is quite certain that at the moment when the sisters came together in their own room, he appeared at the chamber door. And a marvellous contrast it was—they so heated, noisy, and vehement; he so calm, so self-possessed, so cool and full of peace, that not a hair upon his head was stirred.
"Children!" said Mr. Pecksniff, spreading out his hands in wonder, but not before he had shut the door, and set his back against it. "Girls! Daughters! What is this?"
"The wretch; the apostate; the false, mean, odious villain; has before my very face proposed to Mercy!" was his elder daughter's answer.
"Who has proposed to Mercy?" said Mr. Pecksniff.
"He has. That thing. Jonas, down stairs."
"Jonas proposed to Mercy!" said Mr. Pecksniff. "Aye, aye! Indeed!"
"Have you nothing else to say?" cried Charity. "Am I to be driven mad, papa? He has proposed to Mercy, not to me."
"Oh, fie! For shame!" said Mr. Pecksniff, gravely. "Oh, for shame! Can the triumph of a sister move you to this terrible display, my child? Oh, really this is very sad! I am sorry; I am surprised and hurt to see you so. Mercy, my girl, bless you! See to her. Ah, envy, envy, what a passion you are!"
Uttering this apostrophe in a tone full of grief and lamentation, Mr. Pecksniff left the room (taking care to shut the door behind him), and
