Who could combat this resolution? Not Mr. Pickwick. He derived, at that moment, more pride and luxury of feeling from the disinterested attachment of his humble friends, than ten thousand protestations from the greatest men living could have awakened in his heart.
While this conversation was passing in Mr. Pickwick's room, a little old gentleman in a suit of snuff-coloured clothes, followed by a porter carrying a small portmanteau, presented himself below; and after securing a bed for the night, inquired of the waiter whether one Mrs. Winkle was staying there, to which question the waiter, of course, responded in the affirmative.
"Is she alone?" inquired the little old gentleman.
"I believe she is, sir," replied the waiter; "I can call her own maid. sir, if you———"
"No, I don't want her," said the old gentleman quickly. "Show me to her room without announcing me."
"Eh, sir?" said the waiter.
"Are you deaf?" inquired the little old gentleman.
"No, sir."
"Then listen, if you please. Can hear me now?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's well. Show me to Mrs. Winkle's room, without announcing me."
As the little old gentleman uttered this command, he slipped five shillings into the waiter's hand, and looked steadily at him.
"Really, sir," said the waiter, "I don't know, sir. whether———"
"Ah! you'll do it, I see," said the little old gentleman. "You had better do it at once. It will save time."
There was something so very cool and collected in the gentleman's manner, that the waiter put the five shillings in his pocket, and led him up stairs without another word.
"This is the room, is it?" said the gentleman, "You may go."
