Much discomposed in her nerves (which were previously in the best order) by this threat, she so fearfully mutilates that point of state as to announce "Mr.and Mrs.Cheeseming, least which, Imeantersay, whatsername!" and retires conscience-stricken from the presence.
Mr.Chadband is a large yellow man with a fat smile and a general appearance of having a good deal of train oil in his system.

Mrs.
Chadband is a stern, severe-looking, silent woman.

Mr.Chadband moves softly and cumbrously, not unlike a bear who has been taught to walk upright.

He is very much embarrassed about the arms, as if they were inconvenient to him and he wanted to grovel, is very much in a perspiration about the head, and never speaks without first putting up his great hand, as delivering a token to his hearers that he is going to edify them.
"My friends," says Mr.Chadband, "peace be on this house! On the master thereof, on the mistress thereof, on the young maidens, and on the young men! My friends, why do I wish for peace?
What is peace?
Is it war?
No.

Is it strife?
No.