'Who was it, Joe?
I insist upon knowing.' The fat boy looked cautiously round, and having concluded his survey, shouted in the old lady's ear-- 'Miss Rachael.' 'What!' said the old lady, in a shrill tone.

'Speak louder.' 'Miss Rachael,' roared the fat boy.
'My da'ater!' The train of nods which the fat boy gave by way of assent, communicated a blanc-mange like motion to his fat cheeks.
'And she suffered him!' exclaimed the old lady.

A grin stole over the fat boy's features as he said-- 'I see her a-kissin' of him agin.' If Mr.Jingle, from his place of concealment, could have beheld the expression which the old lady's face assumed at this communication, the probability is that a sudden burst of laughter would have betrayed his close vicinity to the summer-house.

He listened attentively.

Fragments of angry sentences such as, 'Without my permission!'-- 'At her time of life'-- 'Miserable old 'ooman like me'-- 'Might have waited till I was dead,' and so forth, reached his ears; and then he heard the heels of the fat boy's boots crunching the gravel, as he retired and left the old lady alone.
It was a remarkable coincidence perhaps, but it was nevertheless a fact, that Mr.Jingle within five minutes of his arrival at Manor Farm on the preceding night, had inwardly resolved to lay siege to the heart of the spinster aunt, without delay.