'Lord, Nicholas my dear, do you suppose I don't know when a man's in earnest ?' 'Well, well!' muttered Nicholas.
'Every time I go to the window,' said Mrs Nickleby, 'he kisses one hand, and lays the other upon his heart--of course it's very foolish of him to do so, and I dare say you'll say it's very wrong, but he does it very respectfully--very respectfully indeed--and very tenderly, extremely tenderly.

So far, he deserves the greatest credit; there can be no doubt about that.

Then, there are the presents which come pouring over the wall every day, and very fine they certainly are, very fine; we had one of the cucumbers at dinner yesterday, and think of pickling the rest for next winter.

And last evening,' added Mrs Nickleby, with increased confusion, 'he called gently over the wall, as I was walking in the garden, and proposed marriage, and an elopement.

His voice is as clear as a bell or a musical glass--very like a musical glass indeed--but of course I didn't listen to it.