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 eldest daughter's answer.
'Who has proposed to Mercy!' asked Mr Pecksniff.
'HE has. That thing, Jonas, downstairs.'
'Jonas proposed to Mercy?' said Mr Pecksniff.
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