 such a case, it formed no part of Mr. Pecksniff's moral
code; for he knew what a good man he was, and what a blessing he must be to
anybody. His daughter having broken the ice, and the murder being out between
them, Mr. Pecksniff had now only to pursue his design as cleverly as he could,
and by the craftiest approaches.
    »Well, my good sir,« said Mr. Pecksniff, meeting old Martin in the garden,
for it was his habit to walk in and out by that way, as the fancy took him: »and
how is my dear friend this delicious morning?«
    »Do you mean me?« asked the old man.
    »Ah!« said Mr. Pecksniff, »one of his deaf days, I see. Could I mean any one
else, my dear sir?«
    »You might have meant Mary,« said the old man.
    »Indeed I might. Quite true. I might speak of her as a dear, dear friend, I
hope?« observed Mr. Pecksniff.
    »I hope so,« returned old Martin. »I think she deserves it.«
    »Think!« cried Pecksniff, »Think, Mr. Chuzzlewit!«
    »You are speaking I know,« returned Martin, »but I don't catch what you say.
Speak up!«
    »He's getting deafer than a flint,« said Pecksniff. »I was saying, my dear
sir, that I am afraid I must make up my mind to part with Cherry.«
    »What has she been doing?« asked the old man.
    »He puts the most ridiculous questions I ever heard!« muttered Mr.
Pecksniff. »He's a child to-day.« After which he added, in a mild roar: »She
hasn't been doing anything, my dear friend.«
    »What are you going to part with her for?« demanded Martin.
    »She hasn't her health by any means,« said Mr. Pecksniff. »She misses her
sister, my dear sir; they doated on each other from the cradle. And I think of
giving her a run in London for a change. A good long run, sir, if I find she
likes it.«
    »Quite right,« cried Martin. »It's judicious.«
    »I am glad to hear you say so. I hope you mean to bear me company in this
dull part, while she's away?« said
