my daughter consumed at that period did not exceed ten ounces per
week.«
    »I think I go a little beyond that, sir,« returned the other, hesitating, as
if he confessed it with some shame.
    »But in your case there's no fiend in human form,« said Mr. Rugg, with
argumentative smile and action of hand. »Observe, Mr. Chivery! No fiend in human
form!«
    »No, sir, certainly,« Young John added with simplicity, »I should be very
sorry if there was.«
    »The sentiment,« said Mr. Rugg, »is what I should have expected from your
known principles. It would affect my daughter greatly, sir, if she heard it. As
I perceive the mutton, I am glad she didn't hear it. Mr. Pancks, on this
occasion, pray face me. My dear, face Mr. Chivery. For what we are going to
receive, may we (and Miss Dorrit) be truly thankful!«
    But for a grave waggishness in Mr. Rugg's manner of delivering this
introduction to the feast, it might have appeared that Miss Dorrit was expected
to be one of the company. Pancks recognised the sally in his usual way, and took
in his provender in his usual way. Miss Rugg, perhaps making up some of her
arrears, likewise took very kindly to the mutton, and it rapidly diminished to
the bone. A bread-and-butter pudding entirely disappeared, and a considerable
amount of cheese and radishes vanished by the same means. Then came the dessert.
    Then also, and before the broaching of the rum and water, came Mr. Pancks's
note-book. The ensuing business proceedings were brief but curious, and rather
in the nature of a conspiracy. Mr. Pancks looked over his note-book, which was
now getting full, studiously; and picked out little extracts, which he wrote on
separate slips of paper on the table; Mr. Rugg, in the meanwhile, looking at him
with close attention, and Young John losing his uncollected eye in mists of
meditation. When Mr. Pancks, who supported the character of chief conspirator,
had completed his extracts, he looked them over, corrected them, put up his
note-book, and held them like a hand at cards.
    »Now, there's a churchyard in Bedfordshire,« said Pancks. »Who takes it?«
    »I'll take it, sir,« returned Mr. Rugg, »if no one bids