 I say decisively, with regard to this state of circumstances,
that it won't do; that it won't act; that it can't be; and that it must not be
suffered to continue.«
    »Every man,« said Mr. Pecksniff, »has a right, an undoubted right, (which I,
for one, would not call in question for any earthly consideration: oh no!) to
regulate his own proceedings by his own likings and dislikings, supposing they
are not immoral and not irreligious. I may feel in my own breast, that Mr.
Chuzzlewit does not regard - me, for instance: say me - with exactly that amount
of Christian love which should subsist between us; I may feel grieved and hurt
at the circumstance; still I may not rush to the conclusion that Mr. Chuzzlewit
is wholly without, a justification in all his coldnesses; Heaven forbid!
Besides; how, Mr. Tigg,« continued Pecksniff even more gravely and impressively
than he had spoken yet, »how could Mr. Chuzzlewit be prevented from having these
peculiar and most extraordinary confidences of which you speak; the existence of
which I must admit; and which I cannot but deplore - for his sake? Consider, my
good sir -« and here Mr. Pecksniff eyed him wistfully - »how very much at random
you are talking.«
    »Why as to that,« rejoined Tigg, »it certainly is a difficult question.«
    »Undoubtedly it is a difficult question,« Mr. Pecksniff answered. As he
spoke he drew himself aloft, and seemed to grow more mindful, suddenly, of the
moral gulf between himself and the creature he addressed. »Undoubtedly it is a
very difficult question. And I am far from feeling sure that it is a question
any one is authorised to discuss. Good evening to you.«
    »You don't know that the Spottletoes are here, I suppose?« said Mr. Tigg.
    »What do you mean, sir? what Spottletoes?« asked Pecksniff, stopping
abruptly on his way to the door.
    »Mr. and Mrs. Spottletoe,« said Chevy Slyme, Esquire, speaking aloud for the
first time, and speaking very sulkily: shambling with his legs the while.
»Spottletoe married my father's brother's child, didn't he? And Mrs. Spottletoe
is Chuzzlewit's own niece, isn't she? She was his favourite once. You may well
ask what Spottletoes.«
    »Now, upon my sacred word!« cried Mr
