‘Don’t talk of it,’ replied Mr. Jingle. He stopped short, as if suddenly recollecting something, and said--‘By the bye--can’t spare ten pounds, can you?--very particular purpose--pay you in three days.’ ‘I dare say I can,’ replied Mr. Tupman, in the fulness of his heart. ‘Three days, you say?’ ‘Only three days--all over then--no more difficulties.’ Mr. Tupman counted the money into his companion’s hand, and he dropped it piece by piece into his pocket, as they walked towards the house. ‘Be careful,’ said Mr. Jingle--‘not a look.’ ‘Not a wink,’ said Mr. Tupman. ‘Not a syllable.’ ‘Not a whisper.’ ‘All your attentions to the niece--rather rude, than otherwise, to the aunt--only way of deceiving the old ones.’ ‘I’ll take care,’ said Mr. Tupman aloud. ‘And _I’ll_ take care,’ said Mr. Jingle internally; and they entered the house. The scene of that afternoon was repeated that evening, and on the three afternoons and evenings next ensuing. On the fourth, the host was in high spirits, for he had satisfied himself that there was no ground for the charge against Mr. Tupman. So was Mr. Tupman, for Mr. Jingle had told him that his affair would soon be brought to a crisis. So was Mr. Pickwick, for he was seldom otherwise. So was not Mr. Snodgrass, for he had grown jealous of Mr. Tupman. So was the old lady, for she had been winning at whist. So were Mr. Jingle and Miss Wardle, for reasons of sufficient importance in this eventful history to be narrated in another chapter. CHAPTER IX. A DISCOVERY AND A CHASE The supper was ready laid, the chairs were drawn round the table, bottles, jugs, and glasses were arranged upon the sideboard, and everything betokened the approach of the most convivial period in the whole four-and-twenty hours. ‘Where’s Rachael?’ said Mr. Wardle. ‘Ay, and Jingle?’ added Mr. Pickwick. ‘Dear me,’ said the host, ‘I wonder I haven’t missed him before. Why, I don’t think I’ve heard his voice for two hours at least. Emily, my dear, ring the bell.’ The bell was rung, and the fat boy appeared. ‘Where’s Miss Rachael?’ He couldn’t say. ‘Where’s Mr. Jingle, then?’ He didn’t know. Everybody looked surprised. It was late--past eleven o’clock. Mr. Tupman laughed in his sleeve. They were loitering somewhere, talking about him. Ha, ha! capital notion that--funny. ‘Never mind,’ said Wardle, after a short pause. ‘They’ll turn up presently, I dare say. I never wait supper for anybody.’ ‘Excellent rule, that,’ said Mr. Pickwick--‘admirable.’ ‘Pray, sit down,’ said the host. ‘Certainly’ said Mr. Pickwick; and down they sat.