Bennett, Emma Woodhouse, and the dear lady of "Persuasion." Another
thirty-two years and that same gallery would be listening to
recruiting appeals and echoing the drums and fifes of a martial
band. The best times are always the old times. The huge lady in the
seat next to Jeremy almost swallowed him up, so that he peered out
from under her thick arm, and heard every crunch and crackle of the
peppermints that she was enjoying. He grew hotter and hotter, so
that at last he seemed, as once he had read in some warning tract
about a greedy boy that Aunt Amy had given him, "to swim in his own
fat." But he did not mind. Discomfort only emphasised his happiness.
Then, peering forward beneath that stout black arm, he suddenly
perceived, far below in the swimming distance, the back of his
mother, the tops of the heads of Mary and Helen, the stiff white
collar of his father, and the well- known coral necklace of Aunt
Amy. For a moment dismay seized him, the morning's lie which he had
entirely forgotten suddenly jumping up and facing him. But they had
forgiven him.

"Shall I wave to them?" he asked excitedly of Uncle Samuel.

"No, no," said his uncle very hurriedly. "Nonsense. They wouldn't
see you if you did. Leave them alone."

He felt immensely superior to them up where he was, and he wouldn't
have changed places with them for anything. He gave a little sigh of
satisfaction. "I could drop an orange on to Aunt Amy's head," he
said. "Wouldn't she jump!"

"You must keep quiet," said Uncle Samuel. "You're good enough as you
are."