“You don’t mean to say you did that on purpose?”
“You don’t mean to say you did that on purpose?”
“You don’t mean to say you did that on purpose?”
The pretty housemaid had stood the candle on the floor; as it gave a very dim light, Sam was obliged to go down onhisknees before he could see whether it really was his own hat or not. It was a remarkably small corner, and so—it was nobody’s fault butthe man’s who built the house—Sam and the pretty housemaid were necessarily very close together.
“Yes, this is it,” said Sam. “Good-bye!”
“Good-bye!” said the pretty housemaid.
“Good-bye!” said Sam; and as he said it, he dropped the hat that had cost so much trouble in looking for.
“How awkward you are,” said the pretty housemaid. “You’ll lose it again, if you don’t take care.”
So, just to prevent his losing it again, she put it on for him.
Whether it was that the pretty housemaid’s face looked prettier still, when it was raised towards Sam’s, or whether it was the accidental consequence of their being so near to each other, is matter of uncertainty to this day; but Sam kissed her.
“You don’t mean to say you did that on purpose?” said the pretty housemaid, blushing.
“No, I didn’t then,” said Sam; “but I will now.”
So he kissed her again.
“Sam!” said Mr. Pickwick, calling over the banisters.
“Coming, sir,” replied Sam, running up stairs.
“How long you have been!” said Mr. Pickwick.
“There was something behind the door, sir, which perwented our getting it open, for ever so long, sir,” replied Sam.
And this was the first passage of Mr. Weller’s first love.