Trundle the honour of conveying him up-stairs, and retired, with a very futile attempt to look impressively solemn and dignified.
"What a shocking scene!" said the spinster aunt.
"Dis—gusting!" ejaculated both the young ladies.
"Dreadful—dreadful!" said Jingle, looking very grave: he was about a bottle and a half ahead of any of his companions. "Horrid spectacle—very!"
"What a nice man!" whispered the spinster aunt to Mr. Tupman.
"Good-looking, too!" whispered Emily Wardle.
"Oh, decidedly," observed the spinster aunt.
Mr. Tupman thought of the widow at Rochester: and his mind was troubled. The succeeding half-hour's conversation was not of a nature to calm his perturbed spirit. The new visitor was very talkative, and the number of his anecdotes was only to be exceeded by the extent of his politeness. Mr. Tupman felt that as Jingle's popularity increased, he (Tupman) retired further into the shade. His laughter was forced—his merriment feigned; and when at last he laid his aching temples between the sheets, he thought, with horrid delight, on the satisfaction it would afford him to have Jingle's head at that moment between the feather bed and the mattress.
The indefatigable stranger rose betimes next morning, and, although his companions remained in bed overpowered with the dissipation of the previous night, exerted himself most successively to promote the hilarity of the breakfast-table. So successful were his efforts, that even the deaf old lady insisted on having one or two of his best jokes retailed through the trumpet; and even she condescended to observe to the spinster aunt, that "he" (meaning Jingle) "was an impudent young fellow:" a sentiment in which all her relations then and there present thoroughly coincided.
It was the old lady's habit on the fine summer mornings to repair to the arbour in which Mr. Tupman had already
