“It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it. Mr Jarvis’s sister, that was. “Quite right,” she said. "Come to my arms, Thames! Oh! dear! Oh! dear!" To repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction—to describe the scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as it must occur to every one's imagination. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. “You will have some tea?” she asked. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her.
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