prompt:
Chapter: Until the day arrived on which I was to entertain my newly-found
old friends, I lived principally on Dora and coffee. In my love-lorn
condition, my appetite languished; and I was glad of it, for I felt
as though it would have been an act of perfidy towards Dora to have a
natural relish for my dinner. The quantity of walking exercise I took,
was not in this respect attended with its usual consequence, as the
disappointment counteracted the fresh air. I have my doubts, too,
founded on the acute experience acquired at this period of my life,
whether a sound enjoyment of animal food can develop itself freely in
any human subject who is always in torment from tight boots. I think
the extremities require to be at peace before the stomach will conduct
itself with vigour.

On the occasion of this domestic little party, I did not repeat my
former extensive preparations. I merely provided a pair of soles,
a small leg of mutton, and a pigeon-pie. Mrs. Crupp broke out into
rebellion on my first bashful hint in reference to the cooking of the
fish and joint, and said, with a dignified sense of injury, 'No! No,
sir! You will not ask me sich a thing, for you are better acquainted
with me than to suppose me capable of doing what I cannot do with ampial
satisfaction to my own feelings!' But, in the end, a compromise was
effected; and Mrs. Crupp consented to achieve this feat, on condition
that I dined from home for a fortnight afterwards.

And here I may remark, that what I underwent from Mrs. Crupp, in
consequence of the tyranny she established over me, was dreadful. I
never was so much afraid of anyone. We made a compromise of everything.
If I hesitated, she was taken with that wonderful disorder which was
always lying in ambush in her system, ready, at the shortest notice, to
prey upon her vitals. If I rang the bell impatiently, after half-a-dozen
unavailing modest pulls, and she appeared at last--which was not by any
means to be relied upon--she would appear with a reproachful aspect,
sink breathless on a chair near the door, lay her hand upon her nankeen
bosom, and become so ill, that I was glad, at any sacrifice of brandy or
anything else, to get rid of her. If I objected to having my bed made at
five o'clock in the afternoon--which I do still think an uncomfortable
arrangement--one motion of her hand towards the same nankeen region of
wounded sensibility was enough to make me falter an apology. In short,
I would have done anything in an honourable way rather than give Mrs.
Crupp offence; and she was the terror of my life.

I bought a second-hand dumb-waiter for this dinner-party, in preference
to re-engaging the handy young man; against whom I had conceived a
prejudice, in consequence of meeting him in the Strand, one Sunday
morning, in a waistcoat remarkably like one of mine, which had been
missing since the former occasion. The 'young gal' was re-engaged; but
on the stipulation that she should only bring in the dishes, and then
withdraw to the landing-place, beyond the outer door; where a habit of
sniffing she had contracted would be lost upon the guests, and where her
retiring on the plates would be a physical impossibility.

Having laid in the materials for a bowl of punch, to be compounded
by Mr. Micawber; having provided a bottle of lavender-water, two
wax-candles, a paper of mixed pins, and a pincushion, to assist Mrs.
Micawber in her toilette at my dressing-table; having also caused the
fire in my bedroom to be lighted for Mrs. Micawber's convenience; and
having laid the cloth with my own hands, I awaited the result with
composure.

At the appointed time, my three visitors arrived together. Mr. Micawber
with more shirt-collar than usual, and a new ribbon to his eye-glass;
Mrs. Micawber with her cap in a whitey-brown paper parcel; Traddles
carrying the parcel, and supporting Mrs. Micawber on his arm. They were
all delighted with my residence. When I conducted Mrs. Micawber to my
dressing-table, and she saw the scale on which it was prepared for her,
she was in such raptures, that she called Mr. Micawber to come in and
look.

'My dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, 'this is luxurious. This is a
way of life which reminds me of the period when I was myself in a state
of celibacy, and Mrs. Micawber had not yet been solicited to plight her
faith at the Hymeneal altar.'

'He means, solicited by him, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs. Micawber,
archly. 'He cannot answer for others.'

'My dear,' returned Mr. Micawber with sudden seriousness, 'I have no
desire to answer for others. I am too well aware that when, in the
inscrutable decrees of Fate, you were reserved for me, it is possible
you may have been reserved for one, destined, after a protracted
struggle, at length to fall a victim to pecuniary involvements of a
complicated nature. I understand your allusion, my love. I regret it,
but I can bear it.'

'Micawber!' exclaimed Mrs. Micawber, in tears. 'Have I deserved this! I,
who never have deserted you; who never WILL desert you, Micawber!' 'My
love,' said Mr. Micawber, much affected, 'you will forgive, and our old
and tried friend Copperfield will, I am sure, forgive, the momentary
laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent collision
with the Minion of Power--in other words, with a ribald Turncock
attached to the water-works--and will pity, not condemn, its excesses.'

Mr. Micawber then embraced Mrs. Micawber, and pressed my hand; leaving
me to infer from this broken allusion that his domestic supply of
water had been cut off that afternoon, in consequence of default in the
payment of the company's rates.

To divert his thoughts from this melancholy subject, I informed Mr.
Micawber that I relied upon him for a bowl of punch, and led him to
the lemons. His recent despondency, not to say despair, was gone in a
moment. I never saw a man so thoroughly enjoy himself amid the fragrance
of lemon-peel and sugar, the odour of burning rum, and the steam of
boiling water, as Mr. Micawber did that afternoon. It was wonderful to
see his face shining at us out of a thin cloud of these delicate fumes,
as he stirred, and mixed, and tasted, and looked as if he were making,
instead of punch, a fortune for his family down to the latest posterity.
As to Mrs. Micawber, I don't know whether it was the effect of the cap,
or the lavender-water, or the pins, or the fire, or the wax-candles, but
she came out of my room, comparatively speaking, lovely. And the lark
was never gayer than that excellent woman.

I suppose--I never ventured to inquire, but I suppose--that Mrs. Crupp,
after frying the soles, was taken ill. Because we broke down at that
point. The leg of mutton came up very red within, and very pale without:
besides having a foreign substance of a gritty nature sprinkled over
it, as if if had had a fall into the ashes of that remarkable kitchen
fireplace. But we were not in condition to judge of this fact from the
appearance of the gravy, forasmuch as the 'young gal' had dropped it all
upon the stairs--where it remained, by the by, in a long train, until it
was worn out. The pigeon-pie was not bad, but it was a delusive pie: the
crust being like a disappointing head, phrenologically speaking: full
of lumps and bumps, with nothing particular underneath. In short, the
banquet was such a failure that I should have been quite unhappy--about
the failure, I mean, for I was always unhappy about Dora--if I had not
been relieved by the great good humour of my company, and by a bright
suggestion from Mr. Micawber.

'My dear friend Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, 'accidents will occur
in the best-regulated families; and in families not regulated by that
pervading influence which sanctifies while it enhances the--a--I would
say, in short, by the influence of Woman, in the lofty character of
Wife, they may be expected with confidence, and must be borne with
philosophy. If you will allow me to take the liberty of remarking that
there are few comestibles better, in their way, than a Devil, and that
I believe, with a little division of labour, we could accomplish a good
one if the young person in attendance could produce a gridiron, I would
put it to you, that this little misfortune may be easily repaired.'

There was a gridiron in the pantry, on which my morning rasher of
bacon was cooked. We had it in, in a twinkling, and immediately applied
ourselves to carrying Mr. Micawber's idea into effect. The division of
labour to which he had referred was this:--Traddles cut the mutton into
slices; Mr. Micawber (who could do anything of this sort to perfection)
covered them with pepper, mustard, salt, and cayenne; I put them on
the gridiron, turned them with a fork, and took them off, under Mr.
Micawber's direction; and Mrs. Micawber heated, and continually stirred,
some mushroom ketchup in a little saucepan. When we had slices enough
done to begin upon, we fell-to, with our sleeves still tucked up at the
wrist, more slices sputtering and blazing on the fire, and our attention
divided between the mutton on our plates, and the mutton then preparing.

What with the novelty of this cookery, the excellence of it, the bustle
of it, the frequent starting up to look after it, the frequent sitting
down to dispose of it as the crisp slices came off the gridiron hot and
hot, the being so busy, so flushed with the fire, so amused, and in the
midst of such a tempting noise and savour, we reduced the leg of mutton
to the bone. My own appetite came back miraculously. I am ashamed to
record it, but I really believe I forgot Dora for a little while. I am
satisfied that Mr. and Mrs. Micawber could not have enjoyed the
feast more, if they had sold a bed to provide it. Traddles laughed as
heartily, almost the whole time, as he ate and worked. Indeed we all
did, all at once; and I dare say there was never a greater success.

We were at the height of our enjoyment, and were all busily engaged, in
our several departments, endeavouring to bring the last batch of slices
to a state of perfection that should crown the feast, when I was aware
of a strange presence in the room, and my eyes encountered those of the
staid Littimer, standing hat in hand before me.

'What's the matter?' I involuntarily asked.

'I beg your pardon, sir, I was directed to come in. Is my master not
here, sir?'

'No.'

'Have you not seen him, sir?'

'No; don't you come from him?'

'Not immediately so, sir.'

'Did he tell you you would find him here?'

'Not exactly so, sir. But I should think he might be here tomorrow, as
he has not been here today.' 'Is he coming up from Oxford?'

'I beg, sir,' he returned respectfully, 'that you will be seated, and
allow me to do this.' With which he took the fork from my unresisting
hand, and bent over the gridiron, as if his whole attention were
concentrated on it.

We should not have been much discomposed, I dare say, by the appearance
of Steerforth himself, but we became in a moment the meekest of the meek
before his respectable serving-man. Mr. Micawber, humming a tune, to
show that he was quite at ease, subsided into his chair, with the handle
of a hastily concealed fork sticking out of the bosom of his coat, as
if he had stabbed himself. Mrs. Micawber put on her brown gloves, and
assumed a genteel languor. Traddles ran his greasy hands through
his hair, and stood it bolt upright, and stared in confusion on the
table-cloth. As for me, I was a mere infant at the head of my own table;
and hardly ventured to glance at the respectable phenomenon, who had
come from Heaven knows where, to put my establishment to rights.

Meanwhile he took the mutton off the gridiron, and gravely handed it
round. We all took some, but our appreciation of it was gone, and we
merely made a show of eating it. As we severally pushed away our plates,
he noiselessly removed them, and set on the cheese. He took that off,
too, when it was done with; cleared the table; piled everything on the
dumb-waiter; gave us our wine-glasses; and, of his own accord, wheeled
the dumb-waiter into the pantry. All this was done in a perfect manner,
and he never raised his eyes from what he was about. Yet his very
elbows, when he had his back towards me, seemed to teem with the
expression of his fixed opinion that I was extremely young.

'Can I do anything more, sir?'

I thanked him and said, No; but would he take no dinner himself?

'None, I am obliged to you, sir.'

'Is Mr. Steerforth coming from Oxford?'

'I beg your pardon, sir?'

'Is Mr. Steerforth coming from Oxford?'

'I should imagine that he might be here tomorrow, sir. I rather thought
he might have been here today, sir. The mistake is mine, no doubt, sir.'

'If you should see him first--' said I.

'If you'll excuse me, sir, I don't think I shall see him first.'

'In case you do,' said I, 'pray say that I am sorry he was not here
today, as an old schoolfellow of his was here.'

'Indeed, sir!' and he divided a bow between me and Traddles, with a
glance at the latter.

He was moving softly to the door, when, in a forlorn hope of saying
something naturally--which I never could, to this man--I said:

'Oh! Littimer!'

'Sir!'

'Did you remain long at Yarmouth, that time?'

'Not particularly so, sir.'

'You saw the boat completed?'

'Yes, sir. I remained behind on purpose to see the boat completed.'

'I know!' He raised his eyes to mine respectfully.

'Mr. Steerforth has not seen it yet, I suppose?'

'I really can't say, sir. I think--but I really can't say, sir. I wish
you good night, sir.'

He comprehended everybody present, in the respectful bow with which he
followed these words, and disappeared. My visitors seemed to breathe
more freely when he was gone; but my own relief was very great, for
besides the constraint, arising from that extraordinary sense of
being at a disadvantage which I always had in this man's presence, my
conscience had embarrassed me with whispers that I had mistrusted his
master, and I could not repress a vague uneasy dread that he might
find it out. How was it, having so little in reality to conceal, that I
always DID feel as if this man were finding me out?

Mr. Micawber roused me from this reflection, which was blended with
a certain remorseful apprehension of seeing Steerforth himself, by
bestowing many encomiums on the absent Littimer as a most respectable
fellow, and a thoroughly admirable servant. Mr. Micawber, I may remark,
had taken his full share of the general bow, and had received it with
infinite condescension.

'But punch, my dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, tasting it, 'like
time and tide, waits for no man. Ah! it is at the present moment in high
flavour. My love, will you give me your opinion?'

Mrs. Micawber pronounced it excellent.

'Then I will drink,' said Mr. Micawber, 'if my friend Copperfield
will permit me to take that social liberty, to the days when my friend
Copperfield and myself were younger, and fought our way in the world
side by side. I may say, of myself and Copperfield, in words we have
sung together before now, that

    We twa hae run about the braes
    And pu'd the gowans' fine
--in a figurative point of view--on several occasions. I am not exactly
aware,' said Mr. Micawber, with the old roll in his voice, and the old
indescribable air of saying something genteel, 'what gowans may be, but
I have no doubt that Copperfield and myself would frequently have taken
a pull at them, if it had been feasible.'

Mr. Micawber, at the then present moment, took a pull at his punch. So
we all did: Traddles evidently lost in wondering at what distant time
Mr. Micawber and I could have been comrades in the battle of the world.

'Ahem!' said Mr. Micawber, clearing his throat, and warming with the
punch and with the fire. 'My dear, another glass?'

Mrs. Micawber said it must be very little; but we couldn't allow that,
so it was a glassful.

'As we are quite confidential here, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs.
Micawber, sipping her punch, 'Mr. Traddles being a part of our
domesticity, I should much like to have your opinion on Mr. Micawber's
prospects. For corn,' said Mrs. Micawber argumentatively, 'as I have
repeatedly said to Mr. Micawber, may be gentlemanly, but it is not
remunerative. Commission to the extent of two and ninepence in
a fortnight cannot, however limited our ideas, be considered
remunerative.'

We were all agreed upon that.

'Then,' said Mrs. Micawber, who prided herself on taking a clear view of
things, and keeping Mr. Micawber straight by her woman's wisdom, when he
might otherwise go a little crooked, 'then I ask myself this question.
If corn is not to be relied upon, what is? Are coals to be relied upon?
Not at all. We have turned our attention to that experiment, on the
suggestion of my family, and we find it fallacious.'

Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair with his hands in his pockets,
eyed us aside, and nodded his head, as much as to say that the case was
very clearly put.

'The articles of corn and coals,' said Mrs. Micawber, still more
argumentatively, 'being equally out of the question, Mr. Copperfield,
I naturally look round the world, and say, "What is there in which a
person of Mr. Micawber's talent is likely to succeed?" And I exclude
the doing anything on commission, because commission is not a certainty.
What is best suited to a person of Mr. Micawber's peculiar temperament
is, I am convinced, a certainty.'

Traddles and I both expressed, by a feeling murmur, that this great
discovery was no doubt true of Mr. Micawber, and that it did him much
credit.

'I will not conceal from you, my dear Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs.
Micawber, 'that I have long felt the Brewing business to be particularly
adapted to Mr. Micawber. Look at Barclay and Perkins! Look at Truman,
Hanbury, and Buxton! It is on that extensive footing that Mr. Micawber,
I know from my own knowledge of him, is calculated to shine; and the
profits, I am told, are e-NOR-MOUS! But if Mr. Micawber cannot get into
those firms--which decline to answer his letters, when he offers his
services even in an inferior capacity--what is the use of dwelling upon
that idea? None. I may have a conviction that Mr. Micawber's manners--'

'Hem! Really, my dear,' interposed Mr. Micawber.

'My love, be silent,' said Mrs. Micawber, laying her brown glove on his
hand. 'I may have a conviction, Mr. Copperfield, that Mr. Micawber's
manners peculiarly qualify him for the Banking business. I may argue
within myself, that if I had a deposit at a banking-house, the manners
of Mr. Micawber, as representing that banking-house, would inspire
confidence, and must extend the connexion. But if the various
banking-houses refuse to avail themselves of Mr. Micawber's abilities,
or receive the offer of them with contumely, what is the use of dwelling
upon THAT idea? None. As to originating a banking-business, I may know
that there are members of my family who, if they chose to place their
money in Mr. Micawber's hands, might found an establishment of that
description. But if they do NOT choose to place their money in Mr.
Micawber's hands--which they don't--what is the use of that? Again I
contend that we are no farther advanced than we were before.'

I shook my head, and said, 'Not a bit.' Traddles also shook his head,
and said, 'Not a bit.'

'What do I deduce from this?' Mrs. Micawber went on to say, still with
the same air of putting a case lucidly. 'What is the conclusion, my
dear Mr. Copperfield, to which I am irresistibly brought? Am I wrong in
saying, it is clear that we must live?'

I answered 'Not at all!' and Traddles answered 'Not at all!' and I found
myself afterwards sagely adding, alone, that a person must either live
or die.

'Just so,' returned Mrs. Micawber, 'It is precisely that. And the fact
is, my dear Mr. Copperfield, that we can not live without something
widely different from existing circumstances shortly turning up. Now
I am convinced, myself, and this I have pointed out to Mr. Micawber
several times of late, that things cannot be expected to turn up of
themselves. We must, in a measure, assist to turn them up. I may be
wrong, but I have formed that opinion.'

Both Traddles and I applauded it highly.

'Very well,' said Mrs. Micawber. 'Then what do I recommend? Here is Mr.
Micawber with a variety of qualifications--with great talent--'

'Really, my love,' said Mr. Micawber.

'Pray, my dear, allow me to conclude. Here is Mr. Micawber, with a
variety of qualifications, with great talent--I should say, with genius,
but that may be the partiality of a wife--'

Traddles and I both murmured 'No.'

'And here is Mr. Micawber without any suitable position or employment.
Where does that responsibility rest? Clearly on society. Then I would
make a fact so disgraceful known, and boldly challenge society to set it
right. It appears to me, my dear Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs. Micawber,
forcibly, 'that what Mr. Micawber has to do, is to throw down the
gauntlet to society, and say, in effect, "Show me who will take that up.
Let the party immediately step forward."'

I ventured to ask Mrs. Micawber how this was to be done.

'By advertising,' said Mrs. Micawber--'in all the papers. It appears to
me, that what Mr. Micawber has to do, in justice to himself, in justice
to his family, and I will even go so far as to say in justice to
society, by which he has been hitherto overlooked, is to advertise in
all the papers; to describe himself plainly as so-and-so, with such and
such qualifications and to put it thus: "Now employ me, on remunerative
terms, and address, post-paid, to W. M., Post Office, Camden Town."'

'This idea of Mrs. Micawber's, my dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber,
making his shirt-collar meet in front of his chin, and glancing at me
sideways, 'is, in fact, the Leap to which I alluded, when I last had the
pleasure of seeing you.'

'Advertising is rather expensive,' I remarked, dubiously.

'Exactly so!' said Mrs. Micawber, preserving the same logical air.
'Quite true, my dear Mr. Copperfield! I have made the identical
observation to Mr. Micawber. It is for that reason especially, that I
think Mr. Micawber ought (as I have already said, in justice to himself,
in justice to his family, and in justice to society) to raise a certain
sum of money--on a bill.'

Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair, trifled with his eye-glass
and cast his eyes up at the ceiling; but I thought him observant of
Traddles, too, who was looking at the fire.

'If no member of my family,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'is possessed of
sufficient natural feeling to negotiate that bill--I believe there is a
better business-term to express what I mean--'

Mr. Micawber, with his eyes still cast up at the ceiling, suggested
'Discount.'

'To discount that bill,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'then my opinion is, that
Mr. Micawber should go into the City, should take that bill into the
Money Market, and should dispose of it for what he can get. If the
individuals in the Money Market oblige Mr. Micawber to sustain a great
sacrifice, that is between themselves and their consciences. I view
it, steadily, as an investment. I recommend Mr. Micawber, my dear Mr.
Copperfield, to do the same; to regard it as an investment which is sure
of return, and to make up his mind to any sacrifice.'

I felt, but I am sure I don't know why, that this was self-denying
and devoted in Mrs. Micawber, and I uttered a murmur to that effect.
Traddles, who took his tone from me, did likewise, still looking at the
fire.

'I will not,' said Mrs. Micawber, finishing her punch, and gathering her
scarf about her shoulders, preparatory to her withdrawal to my bedroom:
'I will not protract these remarks on the subject of Mr. Micawber's
pecuniary affairs. At your fireside, my dear Mr. Copperfield, and in the
presence of Mr. Traddles, who, though not so old a friend, is quite one
of ourselves, I could not refrain from making you acquainted with the
course I advise Mr. Micawber to take. I feel that the time is arrived
when Mr. Micawber should exert himself and--I will add--assert himself,
and it appears to me that these are the means. I am aware that I am
merely a female, and that a masculine judgement is usually considered
more competent to the discussion of such questions; still I must not
forget that, when I lived at home with my papa and mama, my papa was in
the habit of saying, "Emma's form is fragile, but her grasp of a subject
is inferior to none." That my papa was too partial, I well know; but
that he was an observer of character in some degree, my duty and my
reason equally forbid me to doubt.'

With these words, and resisting our entreaties that she would grace
the remaining circulation of the punch with her presence, Mrs. Micawber
retired to my bedroom. And really I felt that she was a noble woman--the
sort of woman who might have been a Roman matron, and done all manner of
heroic things, in times of public trouble.

In the fervour of this impression, I congratulated Mr. Micawber on the
treasure he possessed. So did Traddles. Mr. Micawber extended his
hand to each of us in succession, and then covered his face with his
pocket-handkerchief, which I think had more snuff upon it than he
was aware of. He then returned to the punch, in the highest state of
exhilaration.

He was full of eloquence. He gave us to understand that in our children
we lived again, and that, under the pressure of pecuniary difficulties,
any accession to their number was doubly welcome. He said that Mrs.
Micawber had latterly had her doubts on this point, but that he had
dispelled them, and reassured her. As to her family, they were totally
unworthy of her, and their sentiments were utterly indifferent to him,
and they might--I quote his own expression--go to the Devil.

Mr. Micawber then delivered a warm eulogy on Traddles. He said
Traddles's was a character, to the steady virtues of which he (Mr.
Micawber) could lay no claim, but which, he thanked Heaven, he could
admire. He feelingly alluded to the young lady, unknown, whom Traddles
had honoured with his affection, and who had reciprocated that affection
by honouring and blessing Traddles with her affection. Mr. Micawber
pledged her. So did I. Traddles thanked us both, by saying, with a
simplicity and honesty I had sense enough to be quite charmed with,
'I am very much obliged to you indeed. And I do assure you, she's the
dearest girl!--'

Mr. Micawber took an early opportunity, after that, of hinting, with the
utmost delicacy and ceremony, at the state of my affections. Nothing
but the serious assurance of his friend Copperfield to the contrary,
he observed, could deprive him of the impression that his friend
Copperfield loved and was beloved. After feeling very hot and
uncomfortable for some time, and after a good deal of blushing,
stammering, and denying, I said, having my glass in my hand, 'Well! I
would give them D.!' which so excited and gratified Mr. Micawber,
that he ran with a glass of punch into my bedroom, in order that Mrs.
Micawber might drink D., who drank it with enthusiasm, crying from
within, in a shrill voice, 'Hear, hear! My dear Mr. Copperfield, I am
delighted. Hear!' and tapping at the wall, by way of applause.

Our conversation, afterwards, took a more worldly turn; Mr. Micawber
telling us that he found Camden Town inconvenient, and that the first
thing he contemplated doing, when the advertisement should have been the
cause of something satisfactory turning up, was to move. He mentioned
a terrace at the western end of Oxford Street, fronting Hyde Park, on
which he had always had his eye, but which he did not expect to attain
immediately, as it would require a large establishment. There would
probably be an interval, he explained, in which he should content
himself with the upper part of a house, over some respectable place of
business--say in Piccadilly,--which would be a cheerful situation for
Mrs. Micawber; and where, by throwing out a bow-window, or carrying up
the roof another story, or making some little alteration of that sort,
they might live, comfortably and reputably, for a few years. Whatever
was reserved for him, he expressly said, or wherever his abode might be,
we might rely on this--there would always be a room for Traddles, and a
knife and fork for me. We acknowledged his kindness; and he begged us
to forgive his having launched into these practical and business-like
details, and to excuse it as natural in one who was making entirely new
arrangements in life.

Mrs. Micawber, tapping at the wall again to know if tea were ready,
broke up this particular phase of our friendly conversation. She made
tea for us in a most agreeable manner; and, whenever I went near her, in
handing about the tea-cups and bread-and-butter, asked me, in a whisper,
whether D. was fair, or dark, or whether she was short, or tall: or
something of that kind; which I think I liked. After tea, we discussed a
variety of topics before the fire; and Mrs. Micawber was good enough
to sing us (in a small, thin, flat voice, which I remembered to have
considered, when I first knew her, the very table-beer of acoustics) the
favourite ballads of 'The Dashing White Sergeant', and 'Little Tafflin'.
For both of these songs Mrs. Micawber had been famous when she lived at
home with her papa and mama. Mr. Micawber told us, that when he heard
her sing the first one, on the first occasion of his seeing her beneath
the parental roof, she had attracted his attention in an extraordinary
degree; but that when it came to Little Tafflin, he had resolved to win
that woman or perish in the attempt.

It was between ten and eleven o'clock when Mrs. Micawber rose to replace
her cap in the whitey-brown paper parcel, and to put on her bonnet. Mr.
Micawber took the opportunity of Traddles putting on his great-coat, to
slip a letter into my hand, with a whispered request that I would read
it at my leisure. I also took the opportunity of my holding a candle
over the banisters to light them down, when Mr. Micawber was going
first, leading Mrs. Micawber, and Traddles was following with the cap,
to detain Traddles for a moment on the top of the stairs.

'Traddles,' said I, 'Mr. Micawber don't mean any harm, poor fellow: but,
if I were you, I wouldn't lend him anything.'

'My dear Copperfield,' returned Traddles, smiling, 'I haven't got
anything to lend.'

'You have got a name, you know,' said I.

'Oh! You call THAT something to lend?' returned Traddles, with a
thoughtful look.

'Certainly.'

'Oh!' said Traddles. 'Yes, to be sure! I am very much obliged to you,
Copperfield; but--I am afraid I have lent him that already.'

'For the bill that is to be a certain investment?' I inquired.

'No,' said Traddles. 'Not for that one. This is the first I have heard
of that one. I have been thinking that he will most likely propose that
one, on the way home. Mine's another.'

'I hope there will be nothing wrong about it,' said I. 'I hope not,'
said Traddles. 'I should think not, though, because he told me, only the
other day, that it was provided for. That was Mr. Micawber's expression,
"Provided for."'

Mr. Micawber looking up at this juncture to where we were standing, I
had only time to repeat my caution. Traddles thanked me, and descended.
But I was much afraid, when I observed the good-natured manner in which
he went down with the cap in his hand, and gave Mrs. Micawber his arm,
that he would be carried into the Money Market neck and heels.

I returned to my fireside, and was musing, half gravely and half
laughing, on the character of Mr. Micawber and the old relations between
us, when I heard a quick step ascending the stairs. At first, I thought
it was Traddles coming back for something Mrs. Micawber had left behind;
but as the step approached, I knew it, and felt my heart beat high, and
the blood rush to my face, for it was Steerforth's.

I was never unmindful of Agnes, and she never left that sanctuary in my
thoughts--if I may call it so--where I had placed her from the first.
But when he entered, and stood before me with his hand out, the darkness
that had fallen on him changed to light, and I felt confounded and
ashamed of having doubted one I loved so heartily. I loved her none the
less; I thought of her as the same benignant, gentle angel in my life; I
reproached myself, not her, with having done him an injury; and I would
have made him any atonement if I had known what to make, and how to make
it.

'Why, Daisy, old boy, dumb-foundered!' laughed Steerforth, shaking
my hand heartily, and throwing it gaily away. 'Have I detected you in
another feast, you Sybarite! These Doctors' Commons fellows are the
gayest men in town, I believe, and beat us sober Oxford people all to
nothing!' His bright glance went merrily round the room, as he took
the seat on the sofa opposite to me, which Mrs. Micawber had recently
vacated, and stirred the fire into a blaze.

'I was so surprised at first,' said I, giving him welcome with all
the cordiality I felt, 'that I had hardly breath to greet you with,
Steerforth.'

'Well, the sight of me is good for sore eyes, as the Scotch say,'
replied Steerforth, 'and so is the sight of you, Daisy, in full bloom.
How are you, my Bacchanal?'

'I am very well,' said I; 'and not at all Bacchanalian tonight, though I
confess to another party of three.'

'All of whom I met in the street, talking loud in your praise,' returned
Steerforth. 'Who's our friend in the tights?'

I gave him the best idea I could, in a few words, of Mr. Micawber. He
laughed heartily at my feeble portrait of that gentleman, and said he
was a man to know, and he must know him. 'But who do you suppose our
other friend is?' said I, in my turn.

'Heaven knows,' said Steerforth. 'Not a bore, I hope? I thought he
looked a little like one.'

'Traddles!' I replied, triumphantly.

'Who's he?' asked Steerforth, in his careless way.

'Don't you remember Traddles? Traddles in our room at Salem House?'

'Oh! That fellow!' said Steerforth, beating a lump of coal on the top
of the fire, with the poker. 'Is he as soft as ever? And where the deuce
did you pick him up?'

I extolled Traddles in reply, as highly as I could; for I felt that
Steerforth rather slighted him. Steerforth, dismissing the subject with
a light nod, and a smile, and the remark that he would be glad to see
the old fellow too, for he had always been an odd fish, inquired if I
could give him anything to eat? During most of this short dialogue, when
he had not been speaking in a wild vivacious manner, he had sat idly
beating on the lump of coal with the poker. I observed that he did the
same thing while I was getting out the remains of the pigeon-pie, and so
forth.

'Why, Daisy, here's a supper for a king!' he exclaimed, starting out of
his silence with a burst, and taking his seat at the table. 'I shall do
it justice, for I have come from Yarmouth.'

'I thought you came from Oxford?' I returned.

'Not I,' said Steerforth. 'I have been seafaring--better employed.'

'Littimer was here today, to inquire for you,' I remarked, 'and I
understood him that you were at Oxford; though, now I think of it, he
certainly did not say so.'

'Littimer is a greater fool than I thought him, to have been inquiring
for me at all,' said Steerforth, jovially pouring out a glass of wine,
and drinking to me. 'As to understanding him, you are a cleverer fellow
than most of us, Daisy, if you can do that.'

'That's true, indeed,' said I, moving my chair to the table. 'So you
have been at Yarmouth, Steerforth!' interested to know all about it.
'Have you been there long?'

'No,' he returned. 'An escapade of a week or so.'

'And how are they all? Of course, little Emily is not married yet?'

'Not yet. Going to be, I believe--in so many weeks, or months, or
something or other. I have not seen much of 'em. By the by'; he laid
down his knife and fork, which he had been using with great diligence,
and began feeling in his pockets; 'I have a letter for you.'

'From whom?'

'Why, from your old nurse,' he returned, taking some papers out of his
breast pocket. "'J. Steerforth, Esquire, debtor, to The Willing
Mind"; that's not it. Patience, and we'll find it presently. Old
what's-his-name's in a bad way, and it's about that, I believe.'

'Barkis, do you mean?'

'Yes!' still feeling in his pockets, and looking over their contents:
'it's all over with poor Barkis, I am afraid. I saw a little apothecary
there--surgeon, or whatever he is--who brought your worship into the
world. He was mighty learned about the case, to me; but the upshot of
his opinion was, that the carrier was making his last journey rather
fast.---Put your hand into the breast pocket of my great-coat on the
chair yonder, and I think you'll find the letter. Is it there?'

'Here it is!' said I.

'That's right!'

It was from Peggotty; something less legible than usual, and brief. It
informed me of her husband's hopeless state, and hinted at his being
'a little nearer' than heretofore, and consequently more difficult
to manage for his own comfort. It said nothing of her weariness
and watching, and praised him highly. It was written with a plain,
unaffected, homely piety that I knew to be genuine, and ended with 'my
duty to my ever darling'--meaning myself.

While I deciphered it, Steerforth continued to eat and drink.

'It's a bad job,' he said, when I had done; 'but the sun sets every day,
and people die every minute, and we mustn't be scared by the common lot.
If we failed to hold our own, because that equal foot at all men's doors
was heard knocking somewhere, every object in this world would slip from
us. No! Ride on! Rough-shod if need be, smooth-shod if that will do, but
ride on! Ride on over all obstacles, and win the race!'

'And win what race?' said I.

'The race that one has started in,' said he. 'Ride on!'

I noticed, I remember, as he paused, looking at me with his handsome
head a little thrown back, and his glass raised in his hand, that,
though the freshness of the sea-wind was on his face, and it was ruddy,
there were traces in it, made since I last saw it, as if he had applied
himself to some habitual strain of the fervent energy which, when
roused, was so passionately roused within him. I had it in my thoughts
to remonstrate with him upon his desperate way of pursuing any fancy
that he took--such as this buffeting of rough seas, and braving of hard
weather, for example--when my mind glanced off to the immediate subject
of our conversation again, and pursued that instead.

'I tell you what, Steerforth,' said I, 'if your high spirits will listen
to me--'

'They are potent spirits, and will do whatever you like,' he answered,
moving from the table to the fireside again.

'Then I tell you what, Steerforth. I think I will go down and see my
old nurse. It is not that I can do her any good, or render her any real
service; but she is so attached to me that my visit will have as much
effect on her, as if I could do both. She will take it so kindly that it
will be a comfort and support to her. It is no great effort to make,
I am sure, for such a friend as she has been to me. Wouldn't you go a
day's journey, if you were in my place?'

His face was thoughtful, and he sat considering a little before he
answered, in a low voice, 'Well! Go. You can do no harm.'

'You have just come back,' said I, 'and it would be in vain to ask you
to go with me?'

'Quite,' he returned. 'I am for Highgate tonight. I have not seen
my mother this long time, and it lies upon my conscience, for
it's something to be loved as she loves her prodigal son.---Bah!
Nonsense!--You mean to go tomorrow, I suppose?' he said, holding me out
at arm's length, with a hand on each of my shoulders.

'Yes, I think so.'

'Well, then, don't go till next day. I wanted you to come and stay a
few days with us. Here I am, on purpose to bid you, and you fly off to
Yarmouth!'

'You are a nice fellow to talk of flying off, Steerforth, who are always
running wild on some unknown expedition or other!'

He looked at me for a moment without speaking, and then rejoined, still
holding me as before, and giving me a shake:

'Come! Say the next day, and pass as much of tomorrow as you can with
us! Who knows when we may meet again, else? Come! Say the next day! I
want you to stand between Rosa Dartle and me, and keep us asunder.'

'Would you love each other too much, without me?'

'Yes; or hate,' laughed Steerforth; 'no matter which. Come! Say the next
day!'

I said the next day; and he put on his great-coat and lighted his cigar,
and set off to walk home. Finding him in this intention, I put on my own
great-coat (but did not light my own cigar, having had enough of that
for one while) and walked with him as far as the open road: a dull road,
then, at night. He was in great spirits all the way; and when we parted,
and I looked after him going so gallantly and airily homeward, I thought
of his saying, 'Ride on over all obstacles, and win the race!' and
wished, for the first time, that he had some worthy race to run.

I was undressing in my own room, when Mr. Micawber's letter tumbled on
the floor. Thus reminded of it, I broke the seal and read as follows. It
was dated an hour and a half before dinner. I am not sure whether I
have mentioned that, when Mr. Micawber was at any particularly desperate
crisis, he used a sort of legal phraseology, which he seemed to think
equivalent to winding up his affairs.

'SIR--for I dare not say my dear Copperfield,

'It is expedient that I should inform you that the undersigned is
Crushed. Some flickering efforts to spare you the premature knowledge of
his calamitous position, you may observe in him this day; but hope has
sunk beneath the horizon, and the undersigned is Crushed.

'The present communication is penned within the personal range (I cannot
call it the society) of an individual, in a state closely bordering
on intoxication, employed by a broker. That individual is in legal
possession of the premises, under a distress for rent. His inventory
includes, not only the chattels and effects of every description
belonging to the undersigned, as yearly tenant of this habitation, but
also those appertaining to Mr. Thomas Traddles, lodger, a member of the
Honourable Society of the Inner Temple.

'If any drop of gloom were wanting in the overflowing cup, which is now
"commended" (in the language of an immortal Writer) to the lips of the
undersigned, it would be found in the fact, that a friendly acceptance
granted to the undersigned, by the before-mentioned Mr. Thomas Traddles,
for the sum Of 23l 4s 9 1/2d is over due, and is NOT provided for. Also,
in the fact that the living responsibilities clinging to the undersigned
will, in the course of nature, be increased by the sum of one more
helpless victim; whose miserable appearance may be looked for--in round
numbers--at the expiration of a period not exceeding six lunar months
from the present date.

'After premising thus much, it would be a work of supererogation to add,
that dust and ashes are for ever scattered

               'On
                    'The
                         'Head
                              'Of
                                   'WILKINS MICAWBER.'

Poor Traddles! I knew enough of Mr. Micawber by this time, to foresee
that he might be expected to recover the blow; but my night's rest was
sorely distressed by thoughts of Traddles, and of the curate's daughter,
who was one of ten, down in Devonshire, and who was such a dear girl,
and who would wait for Traddles (ominous praise!) until she was sixty,
or any age that could be mentioned.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Mr. Micawber's Gauntlet "Ride over all obstacles, and win the race. Mr. and Mrs. Micawber and Traddles come to dinner at David's apartment. Mrs. Crupp agrees, after a good deal of argument, to cook dinner for them. The dinner is terribly undercooked, but Mrs. Micawber directs them all in re-cooking the meat. They enjoy themselves as they cook and eat. Steerforth's servant, Littimer, arrives and asks David whether he has seen Steerforth. David replies that he has not. Littimer will not tell David why he thought Steerforth might be at his house, nor will he tell him where Steerforth has been. However, Littimer insists on serving the remainder of the meal, which makes everyone uncomfortable. After Littimer leaves, the guests continue to have a merry time. They discuss Mr. Micawber's prospects in the brewing business and conclude that they are very good. As his friends leave, David suggests to Traddles that he neither lend anything to Mr. Micawber nor allow Micawber to use Traddles's name to take out more credit. Traddles says he has already lent Mr. Micawber his name and adds that Mr. Micawber says that the bill is taken care of. Skeptical, David reflects that he is very glad Mr. Micawber never asked him for any money. Steerforth appears in David's apartment immediately after the others leave, and David tells him Traddles has just left. Steerforth does not speak highly of Traddles, and David is slightly offended. Steerforth reveals that he has been seafaring at Yarmouth. David tells him that Littimer has just been at the apartment looking for him. Steerforth says that Mr. Barkis is quite ill and delivers a letter from Peggotty to David. Steerforth remarks that it is too bad that Mr. Barkis is dying, but says that above all, a man must "ide over all obstacles, and win the race. David resolves to go visit Peggotty, but Steerforth persuades David to accompany him to his mother's house before going to Yarmouth. As David undresses, he discovers a letter Mr. Micawber gave him as he left. It says that Mr. Micawber has not taken care of the debt he secured in Traddles's name


prompt:
Chapter: I mentioned to Mr. Spenlow in the morning, that I wanted leave of
absence for a short time; and as I was not in the receipt of any salary,
and consequently was not obnoxious to the implacable Jorkins, there was
no difficulty about it. I took that opportunity, with my voice sticking
in my throat, and my sight failing as I uttered the words, to express
my hope that Miss Spenlow was quite well; to which Mr. Spenlow replied,
with no more emotion than if he had been speaking of an ordinary human
being, that he was much obliged to me, and she was very well.

We articled clerks, as germs of the patrician order of proctors, were
treated with so much consideration, that I was almost my own master at
all times. As I did not care, however, to get to Highgate before one
or two o'clock in the day, and as we had another little excommunication
case in court that morning, which was called The office of the judge
promoted by Tipkins against Bullock for his soul's correction, I passed
an hour or two in attendance on it with Mr. Spenlow very agreeably.
It arose out of a scuffle between two churchwardens, one of whom was
alleged to have pushed the other against a pump; the handle of which
pump projecting into a school-house, which school-house was under a
gable of the church-roof, made the push an ecclesiastical offence.
It was an amusing case; and sent me up to Highgate, on the box of the
stage-coach, thinking about the Commons, and what Mr. Spenlow had said
about touching the Commons and bringing down the country.

Mrs. Steerforth was pleased to see me, and so was Rosa Dartle. I was
agreeably surprised to find that Littimer was not there, and that we
were attended by a modest little parlour-maid, with blue ribbons in her
cap, whose eye it was much more pleasant, and much less disconcerting,
to catch by accident, than the eye of that respectable man. But what I
particularly observed, before I had been half-an-hour in the house, was
the close and attentive watch Miss Dartle kept upon me; and the lurking
manner in which she seemed to compare my face with Steerforth's, and
Steerforth's with mine, and to lie in wait for something to come out
between the two. So surely as I looked towards her, did I see that eager
visage, with its gaunt black eyes and searching brow, intent on mine; or
passing suddenly from mine to Steerforth's; or comprehending both of us
at once. In this lynx-like scrutiny she was so far from faltering when
she saw I observed it, that at such a time she only fixed her piercing
look upon me with a more intent expression still. Blameless as I was,
and knew that I was, in reference to any wrong she could possibly
suspect me of, I shrunk before her strange eyes, quite unable to endure
their hungry lustre.

All day, she seemed to pervade the whole house. If I talked to
Steerforth in his room, I heard her dress rustle in the little gallery
outside. When he and I engaged in some of our old exercises on the lawn
behind the house, I saw her face pass from window to window, like a
wandering light, until it fixed itself in one, and watched us. When we
all four went out walking in the afternoon, she closed her thin hand on
my arm like a spring, to keep me back, while Steerforth and his mother
went on out of hearing: and then spoke to me.

'You have been a long time,' she said, 'without coming here. Is your
profession really so engaging and interesting as to absorb your whole
attention? I ask because I always want to be informed, when I am
ignorant. Is it really, though?'

I replied that I liked it well enough, but that I certainly could not
claim so much for it.

'Oh! I am glad to know that, because I always like to be put right when
I am wrong,' said Rosa Dartle. 'You mean it is a little dry, perhaps?'

'Well,' I replied; 'perhaps it was a little dry.'

'Oh! and that's a reason why you want relief and change--excitement and
all that?' said she. 'Ah! very true! But isn't it a little--Eh?--for
him; I don't mean you?'

A quick glance of her eye towards the spot where Steerforth was walking,
with his mother leaning on his arm, showed me whom she meant; but beyond
that, I was quite lost. And I looked so, I have no doubt.

'Don't it--I don't say that it does, mind I want to know--don't it
rather engross him? Don't it make him, perhaps, a little more remiss
than usual in his visits to his blindly-doting--eh?' With another
quick glance at them, and such a glance at me as seemed to look into my
innermost thoughts.

'Miss Dartle,' I returned, 'pray do not think--'

'I don't!' she said. 'Oh dear me, don't suppose that I think anything!
I am not suspicious. I only ask a question. I don't state any opinion. I
want to found an opinion on what you tell me. Then, it's not so? Well! I
am very glad to know it.'

'It certainly is not the fact,' said I, perplexed, 'that I am
accountable for Steerforth's having been away from home longer than
usual--if he has been: which I really don't know at this moment, unless
I understand it from you. I have not seen him this long while, until
last night.'

'No?'

'Indeed, Miss Dartle, no!'

As she looked full at me, I saw her face grow sharper and paler, and the
marks of the old wound lengthen out until it cut through the disfigured
lip, and deep into the nether lip, and slanted down the face. There was
something positively awful to me in this, and in the brightness of her
eyes, as she said, looking fixedly at me:

'What is he doing?'

I repeated the words, more to myself than her, being so amazed.

'What is he doing?' she said, with an eagerness that seemed enough to
consume her like a fire. 'In what is that man assisting him, who never
looks at me without an inscrutable falsehood in his eyes? If you are
honourable and faithful, I don't ask you to betray your friend. I ask
you only to tell me, is it anger, is it hatred, is it pride, is it
restlessness, is it some wild fancy, is it love, what is it, that is
leading him?'

'Miss Dartle,' I returned, 'how shall I tell you, so that you will
believe me, that I know of nothing in Steerforth different from what
there was when I first came here? I can think of nothing. I firmly
believe there is nothing. I hardly understand even what you mean.'

As she still stood looking fixedly at me, a twitching or throbbing,
from which I could not dissociate the idea of pain, came into that cruel
mark; and lifted up the corner of her lip as if with scorn, or with a
pity that despised its object. She put her hand upon it hurriedly--a
hand so thin and delicate, that when I had seen her hold it up before
the fire to shade her face, I had compared it in my thoughts to fine
porcelain--and saying, in a quick, fierce, passionate way, 'I swear you
to secrecy about this!' said not a word more.

Mrs. Steerforth was particularly happy in her son's society, and
Steerforth was, on this occasion, particularly attentive and respectful
to her. It was very interesting to me to see them together, not only on
account of their mutual affection, but because of the strong personal
resemblance between them, and the manner in which what was haughty or
impetuous in him was softened by age and sex, in her, to a gracious
dignity. I thought, more than once, that it was well no serious cause of
division had ever come between them; or two such natures--I ought rather
to express it, two such shades of the same nature--might have been
harder to reconcile than the two extremest opposites in creation. The
idea did not originate in my own discernment, I am bound to confess, but
in a speech of Rosa Dartle's.

She said at dinner:

'Oh, but do tell me, though, somebody, because I have been thinking
about it all day, and I want to know.'

'You want to know what, Rosa?' returned Mrs. Steerforth. 'Pray, pray,
Rosa, do not be mysterious.'

'Mysterious!' she cried. 'Oh! really? Do you consider me so?'

'Do I constantly entreat you,' said Mrs. Steerforth, 'to speak plainly,
in your own natural manner?'

'Oh! then this is not my natural manner?' she rejoined. 'Now you must
really bear with me, because I ask for information. We never know
ourselves.'

'It has become a second nature,' said Mrs. Steerforth, without any
displeasure; 'but I remember,--and so must you, I think,--when your
manner was different, Rosa; when it was not so guarded, and was more
trustful.'

'I am sure you are right,' she returned; 'and so it is that bad habits
grow upon one! Really? Less guarded and more trustful? How can I,
imperceptibly, have changed, I wonder! Well, that's very odd! I must
study to regain my former self.'

'I wish you would,' said Mrs. Steerforth, with a smile.

'Oh! I really will, you know!' she answered. 'I will learn frankness
from--let me see--from James.'

'You cannot learn frankness, Rosa,' said Mrs. Steerforth quickly--for
there was always some effect of sarcasm in what Rosa Dartle said,
though it was said, as this was, in the most unconscious manner in the
world--'in a better school.'

'That I am sure of,' she answered, with uncommon fervour. 'If I am sure
of anything, of course, you know, I am sure of that.'

Mrs. Steerforth appeared to me to regret having been a little nettled;
for she presently said, in a kind tone:

'Well, my dear Rosa, we have not heard what it is that you want to be
satisfied about?'

'That I want to be satisfied about?' she replied, with provoking
coldness. 'Oh! It was only whether people, who are like each other in
their moral constitution--is that the phrase?'

'It's as good a phrase as another,' said Steerforth.

'Thank you:--whether people, who are like each other in their moral
constitution, are in greater danger than people not so circumstanced,
supposing any serious cause of variance to arise between them, of being
divided angrily and deeply?'

'I should say yes,' said Steerforth.

'Should you?' she retorted. 'Dear me! Supposing then, for instance--any
unlikely thing will do for a supposition--that you and your mother were
to have a serious quarrel.'

'My dear Rosa,' interposed Mrs. Steerforth, laughing good-naturedly,
'suggest some other supposition! James and I know our duty to each other
better, I pray Heaven!'

'Oh!' said Miss Dartle, nodding her head thoughtfully. 'To be sure. That
would prevent it? Why, of course it would. Exactly. Now, I am glad I
have been so foolish as to put the case, for it is so very good to know
that your duty to each other would prevent it! Thank you very much.'

One other little circumstance connected with Miss Dartle I must
not omit; for I had reason to remember it thereafter, when all the
irremediable past was rendered plain. During the whole of this day, but
especially from this period of it, Steerforth exerted himself with his
utmost skill, and that was with his utmost ease, to charm this singular
creature into a pleasant and pleased companion. That he should succeed,
was no matter of surprise to me. That she should struggle against the
fascinating influence of his delightful art--delightful nature I thought
it then--did not surprise me either; for I knew that she was sometimes
jaundiced and perverse. I saw her features and her manner slowly change;
I saw her look at him with growing admiration; I saw her try, more and
more faintly, but always angrily, as if she condemned a weakness in
herself, to resist the captivating power that he possessed; and finally,
I saw her sharp glance soften, and her smile become quite gentle, and I
ceased to be afraid of her as I had really been all day, and we all sat
about the fire, talking and laughing together, with as little reserve as
if we had been children.

Whether it was because we had sat there so long, or because Steerforth
was resolved not to lose the advantage he had gained, I do not know; but
we did not remain in the dining-room more than five minutes after her
departure. 'She is playing her harp,' said Steerforth, softly, at the
drawing-room door, 'and nobody but my mother has heard her do that, I
believe, these three years.' He said it with a curious smile, which was
gone directly; and we went into the room and found her alone.

'Don't get up,' said Steerforth (which she had already done)' my dear
Rosa, don't! Be kind for once, and sing us an Irish song.'

'What do you care for an Irish song?' she returned.

'Much!' said Steerforth. 'Much more than for any other. Here is Daisy,
too, loves music from his soul. Sing us an Irish song, Rosa! and let me
sit and listen as I used to do.'

He did not touch her, or the chair from which she had risen, but sat
himself near the harp. She stood beside it for some little while, in a
curious way, going through the motion of playing it with her right hand,
but not sounding it. At length she sat down, and drew it to her with one
sudden action, and played and sang.

I don't know what it was, in her touch or voice, that made that song the
most unearthly I have ever heard in my life, or can imagine. There was
something fearful in the reality of it. It was as if it had never been
written, or set to music, but sprung out of passion within her; which
found imperfect utterance in the low sounds of her voice, and crouched
again when all was still. I was dumb when she leaned beside the harp
again, playing it, but not sounding it, with her right hand.

A minute more, and this had roused me from my trance:--Steerforth had
left his seat, and gone to her, and had put his arm laughingly about
her, and had said, 'Come, Rosa, for the future we will love each other
very much!' And she had struck him, and had thrown him off with the fury
of a wild cat, and had burst out of the room.

'What is the matter with Rosa?' said Mrs. Steerforth, coming in.

'She has been an angel, mother,' returned Steerforth, 'for a little
while; and has run into the opposite extreme, since, by way of
compensation.'

'You should be careful not to irritate her, James. Her temper has been
soured, remember, and ought not to be tried.'

Rosa did not come back; and no other mention was made of her, until I
went with Steerforth into his room to say Good night. Then he laughed
about her, and asked me if I had ever seen such a fierce little piece of
incomprehensibility.

I expressed as much of my astonishment as was then capable of
expression, and asked if he could guess what it was that she had taken
so much amiss, so suddenly.

'Oh, Heaven knows,' said Steerforth. 'Anything you like--or nothing!
I told you she took everything, herself included, to a grindstone, and
sharpened it. She is an edge-tool, and requires great care in dealing
with. She is always dangerous. Good night!'

'Good night!' said I, 'my dear Steerforth! I shall be gone before you
wake in the morning. Good night!'

He was unwilling to let me go; and stood, holding me out, with a hand on
each of my shoulders, as he had done in my own room.

'Daisy,' he said, with a smile--'for though that's not the name your
godfathers and godmothers gave you, it's the name I like best to call
you by--and I wish, I wish, I wish, you could give it to me!'

'Why so I can, if I choose,' said I.

'Daisy, if anything should ever separate us, you must think of me at my
best, old boy. Come! Let us make that bargain. Think of me at my best,
if circumstances should ever part us!'

'You have no best to me, Steerforth,' said I, 'and no worst. You are
always equally loved, and cherished in my heart.'

So much compunction for having ever wronged him, even by a shapeless
thought, did I feel within me, that the confession of having done so was
rising to my lips. But for the reluctance I had to betray the confidence
of Agnes, but for my uncertainty how to approach the subject with no
risk of doing so, it would have reached them before he said, 'God bless
you, Daisy, and good night!' In my doubt, it did NOT reach them; and we
shook hands, and we parted.

I was up with the dull dawn, and, having dressed as quietly as I could,
looked into his room. He was fast asleep; lying, easily, with his head
upon his arm, as I had often seen him lie at school.

The time came in its season, and that was very soon, when I almost
wondered that nothing troubled his repose, as I looked at him. But he
slept--let me think of him so again--as I had often seen him sleep at
school; and thus, in this silent hour, I left him. --Never more, oh
God forgive you, Steerforth! to touch that passive hand in love and
friendship. Never, never more!

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: I visit Steerforth at his Home, again At Steerforth's home, David spends the day with Miss Dartle and Mrs. Steerforth. Miss Dartle asks David why he has been keeping Steerforth away from his mother. David assures her that he has not been with Steerforth in the past several weeks. Miss Dartle seems very disturbed at this news. At dinner, Miss Dartle says that if Steerforth and his mother were ever to quarrel, their fight would be especially bitter because neither of them would want to give in to the other. However, Mrs. Steerforth assures Miss Dartle that she and her son are too conscious of their duty to each other ever to quarrel. At the end of the day, Steerforth begs David to promise that if anything ever separates them, David will remember him at his best. David promises. As he leaves, he looks in on the sleeping Steerforth. In retrospect, the adult David muses that he wishes he could have kept Steerforth just as he was at that moment, so that none of what was to come ever would have happened


prompt:
Chapter: I got down to Yarmouth in the evening, and went to the inn. I knew that
Peggotty's spare room--my room--was likely to have occupation enough
in a little while, if that great Visitor, before whose presence all
the living must give place, were not already in the house; so I betook
myself to the inn, and dined there, and engaged my bed.

It was ten o'clock when I went out. Many of the shops were shut, and the
town was dull. When I came to Omer and Joram's, I found the shutters up,
but the shop door standing open. As I could obtain a perspective view
of Mr. Omer inside, smoking his pipe by the parlour door, I entered, and
asked him how he was.

'Why, bless my life and soul!' said Mr. Omer, 'how do you find yourself?
Take a seat.---Smoke not disagreeable, I hope?'

'By no means,' said I. 'I like it--in somebody else's pipe.'

'What, not in your own, eh?' Mr. Omer returned, laughing. 'All the
better, sir. Bad habit for a young man. Take a seat. I smoke, myself,
for the asthma.'

Mr. Omer had made room for me, and placed a chair. He now sat down again
very much out of breath, gasping at his pipe as if it contained a supply
of that necessary, without which he must perish.

'I am sorry to have heard bad news of Mr. Barkis,' said I.

Mr. Omer looked at me, with a steady countenance, and shook his head.

'Do you know how he is tonight?' I asked.

'The very question I should have put to you, sir,' returned Mr. Omer,
'but on account of delicacy. It's one of the drawbacks of our line of
business. When a party's ill, we can't ask how the party is.'

The difficulty had not occurred to me; though I had had my apprehensions
too, when I went in, of hearing the old tune. On its being mentioned, I
recognized it, however, and said as much.

'Yes, yes, you understand,' said Mr. Omer, nodding his head. 'We dursn't
do it. Bless you, it would be a shock that the generality of parties
mightn't recover, to say "Omer and Joram's compliments, and how do you
find yourself this morning?"--or this afternoon--as it may be.'

Mr. Omer and I nodded at each other, and Mr. Omer recruited his wind by
the aid of his pipe.

'It's one of the things that cut the trade off from attentions they
could often wish to show,' said Mr. Omer. 'Take myself. If I have known
Barkis a year, to move to as he went by, I have known him forty years.
But I can't go and say, "how is he?"'

I felt it was rather hard on Mr. Omer, and I told him so.

'I'm not more self-interested, I hope, than another man,' said Mr. Omer.
'Look at me! My wind may fail me at any moment, and it ain't
likely that, to my own knowledge, I'd be self-interested under such
circumstances. I say it ain't likely, in a man who knows his wind will
go, when it DOES go, as if a pair of bellows was cut open; and that man
a grandfather,' said Mr. Omer.

I said, 'Not at all.'

'It ain't that I complain of my line of business,' said Mr. Omer. 'It
ain't that. Some good and some bad goes, no doubt, to all callings. What
I wish is, that parties was brought up stronger-minded.'

Mr. Omer, with a very complacent and amiable face, took several puffs in
silence; and then said, resuming his first point:

'Accordingly we're obleeged, in ascertaining how Barkis goes on, to
limit ourselves to Em'ly. She knows what our real objects are, and she
don't have any more alarms or suspicions about us, than if we was so
many lambs. Minnie and Joram have just stepped down to the house, in
fact (she's there, after hours, helping her aunt a bit), to ask her how
he is tonight; and if you was to please to wait till they come back,
they'd give you full partic'lers. Will you take something? A glass of
srub and water, now? I smoke on srub and water, myself,' said Mr. Omer,
taking up his glass, 'because it's considered softening to the passages,
by which this troublesome breath of mine gets into action. But, Lord
bless you,' said Mr. Omer, huskily, 'it ain't the passages that's out of
order! "Give me breath enough," said I to my daughter Minnie, "and I'll
find passages, my dear."'

He really had no breath to spare, and it was very alarming to see him
laugh. When he was again in a condition to be talked to, I thanked
him for the proffered refreshment, which I declined, as I had just had
dinner; and, observing that I would wait, since he was so good as to
invite me, until his daughter and his son-in-law came back, I inquired
how little Emily was?

'Well, sir,' said Mr. Omer, removing his pipe, that he might rub his
chin: 'I tell you truly, I shall be glad when her marriage has taken
place.'

'Why so?' I inquired.

'Well, she's unsettled at present,' said Mr. Omer. 'It ain't that she's
not as pretty as ever, for she's prettier--I do assure you, she is
prettier. It ain't that she don't work as well as ever, for she does.
She WAS worth any six, and she IS worth any six. But somehow she wants
heart. If you understand,' said Mr. Omer, after rubbing his chin again,
and smoking a little, 'what I mean in a general way by the expression,
"A long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull altogether, my hearties,
hurrah!" I should say to you, that that was--in a general way--what I
miss in Em'ly.'

Mr. Omer's face and manner went for so much, that I could
conscientiously nod my head, as divining his meaning. My quickness of
apprehension seemed to please him, and he went on: 'Now I consider this
is principally on account of her being in an unsettled state, you
see. We have talked it over a good deal, her uncle and myself, and her
sweetheart and myself, after business; and I consider it is principally
on account of her being unsettled. You must always recollect of Em'ly,'
said Mr. Omer, shaking his head gently, 'that she's a most extraordinary
affectionate little thing. The proverb says, "You can't make a silk
purse out of a sow's ear." Well, I don't know about that. I rather think
you may, if you begin early in life. She has made a home out of that old
boat, sir, that stone and marble couldn't beat.'

'I am sure she has!' said I.

'To see the clinging of that pretty little thing to her uncle,' said
Mr. Omer; 'to see the way she holds on to him, tighter and tighter, and
closer and closer, every day, is to see a sight. Now, you know, there's
a struggle going on when that's the case. Why should it be made a longer
one than is needful?'

I listened attentively to the good old fellow, and acquiesced, with all
my heart, in what he said.

'Therefore, I mentioned to them,' said Mr. Omer, in a comfortable,
easy-going tone, 'this. I said, "Now, don't consider Em'ly nailed down
in point of time, at all. Make it your own time. Her services have been
more valuable than was supposed; her learning has been quicker than was
supposed; Omer and Joram can run their pen through what remains; and
she's free when you wish. If she likes to make any little arrangement,
afterwards, in the way of doing any little thing for us at home,
very well. If she don't, very well still. We're no losers, anyhow."
For--don't you see,' said Mr. Omer, touching me with his pipe, 'it ain't
likely that a man so short of breath as myself, and a grandfather too,
would go and strain points with a little bit of a blue-eyed blossom,
like her?'

'Not at all, I am certain,' said I.

'Not at all! You're right!' said Mr. Omer. 'Well, sir, her cousin--you
know it's a cousin she's going to be married to?'

'Oh yes,' I replied. 'I know him well.'

'Of course you do,' said Mr. Omer. 'Well, sir! Her cousin being, as it
appears, in good work, and well to do, thanked me in a very manly sort
of manner for this (conducting himself altogether, I must say, in a way
that gives me a high opinion of him), and went and took as comfortable
a little house as you or I could wish to clap eyes on. That little
house is now furnished right through, as neat and complete as a doll's
parlour; and but for Barkis's illness having taken this bad turn, poor
fellow, they would have been man and wife--I dare say, by this time. As
it is, there's a postponement.'

'And Emily, Mr. Omer?' I inquired. 'Has she become more settled?'

'Why that, you know,' he returned, rubbing his double chin again, 'can't
naturally be expected. The prospect of the change and separation, and
all that, is, as one may say, close to her and far away from her, both
at once. Barkis's death needn't put it off much, but his lingering
might. Anyway, it's an uncertain state of matters, you see.'

'I see,' said I.

'Consequently,' pursued Mr. Omer, 'Em'ly's still a little down, and a
little fluttered; perhaps, upon the whole, she's more so than she was.
Every day she seems to get fonder and fonder of her uncle, and more loth
to part from all of us. A kind word from me brings the tears into her
eyes; and if you was to see her with my daughter Minnie's little girl,
you'd never forget it. Bless my heart alive!' said Mr. Omer, pondering,
'how she loves that child!'

Having so favourable an opportunity, it occurred to me to ask Mr. Omer,
before our conversation should be interrupted by the return of his
daughter and her husband, whether he knew anything of Martha.

'Ah!' he rejoined, shaking his head, and looking very much dejected.
'No good. A sad story, sir, however you come to know it. I never thought
there was harm in the girl. I wouldn't wish to mention it before my
daughter Minnie--for she'd take me up directly--but I never did. None of
us ever did.'

Mr. Omer, hearing his daughter's footstep before I heard it, touched me
with his pipe, and shut up one eye, as a caution. She and her husband
came in immediately afterwards.

Their report was, that Mr. Barkis was 'as bad as bad could be'; that he
was quite unconscious; and that Mr. Chillip had mournfully said in the
kitchen, on going away just now, that the College of Physicians, the
College of Surgeons, and Apothecaries' Hall, if they were all called
in together, couldn't help him. He was past both Colleges, Mr. Chillip
said, and the Hall could only poison him.

Hearing this, and learning that Mr. Peggotty was there, I determined to
go to the house at once. I bade good night to Mr. Omer, and to Mr. and
Mrs. Joram; and directed my steps thither, with a solemn feeling, which
made Mr. Barkis quite a new and different creature.

My low tap at the door was answered by Mr. Peggotty. He was not so much
surprised to see me as I had expected. I remarked this in Peggotty,
too, when she came down; and I have seen it since; and I think, in the
expectation of that dread surprise, all other changes and surprises
dwindle into nothing.

I shook hands with Mr. Peggotty, and passed into the kitchen, while he
softly closed the door. Little Emily was sitting by the fire, with her
hands before her face. Ham was standing near her.

We spoke in whispers; listening, between whiles, for any sound in the
room above. I had not thought of it on the occasion of my last visit,
but how strange it was to me, now, to miss Mr. Barkis out of the
kitchen!

'This is very kind of you, Mas'r Davy,' said Mr. Peggotty.

'It's oncommon kind,' said Ham.

'Em'ly, my dear,' cried Mr. Peggotty. 'See here! Here's Mas'r Davy come!
What, cheer up, pretty! Not a wured to Mas'r Davy?'

There was a trembling upon her, that I can see now. The coldness of her
hand when I touched it, I can feel yet. Its only sign of animation was
to shrink from mine; and then she glided from the chair, and creeping
to the other side of her uncle, bowed herself, silently and trembling
still, upon his breast.

'It's such a loving art,' said Mr. Peggotty, smoothing her rich hair
with his great hard hand, 'that it can't abear the sorrer of this.
It's nat'ral in young folk, Mas'r Davy, when they're new to these here
trials, and timid, like my little bird,--it's nat'ral.'

She clung the closer to him, but neither lifted up her face, nor spoke a
word.

'It's getting late, my dear,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'and here's Ham come
fur to take you home. Theer! Go along with t'other loving art! What'
Em'ly? Eh, my pretty?'

The sound of her voice had not reached me, but he bent his head as if he
listened to her, and then said:

'Let you stay with your uncle? Why, you doen't mean to ask me that! Stay
with your uncle, Moppet? When your husband that'll be so soon, is here
fur to take you home? Now a person wouldn't think it, fur to see this
little thing alongside a rough-weather chap like me,' said Mr. Peggotty,
looking round at both of us, with infinite pride; 'but the sea ain't
more salt in it than she has fondness in her for her uncle--a foolish
little Em'ly!'

'Em'ly's in the right in that, Mas'r Davy!' said Ham. 'Lookee here! As
Em'ly wishes of it, and as she's hurried and frightened, like, besides,
I'll leave her till morning. Let me stay too!'

'No, no,' said Mr. Peggotty. 'You doen't ought--a married man like
you--or what's as good--to take and hull away a day's work. And you
doen't ought to watch and work both. That won't do. You go home and turn
in. You ain't afeerd of Em'ly not being took good care on, I know.'

Ham yielded to this persuasion, and took his hat to go. Even when he
kissed her--and I never saw him approach her, but I felt that nature
had given him the soul of a gentleman--she seemed to cling closer to
her uncle, even to the avoidance of her chosen husband. I shut the
door after him, that it might cause no disturbance of the quiet that
prevailed; and when I turned back, I found Mr. Peggotty still talking to
her.

'Now, I'm a going upstairs to tell your aunt as Mas'r Davy's here, and
that'll cheer her up a bit,' he said. 'Sit ye down by the fire, the
while, my dear, and warm those mortal cold hands. You doen't need to be
so fearsome, and take on so much. What? You'll go along with me?--Well!
come along with me--come! If her uncle was turned out of house and home,
and forced to lay down in a dyke, Mas'r Davy,' said Mr. Peggotty, with
no less pride than before, 'it's my belief she'd go along with him, now!
But there'll be someone else, soon,--someone else, soon, Em'ly!'

Afterwards, when I went upstairs, as I passed the door of my little
chamber, which was dark, I had an indistinct impression of her being
within it, cast down upon the floor. But, whether it was really she, or
whether it was a confusion of the shadows in the room, I don't know now.

I had leisure to think, before the kitchen fire, of pretty little
Emily's dread of death--which, added to what Mr. Omer had told me, I
took to be the cause of her being so unlike herself--and I had leisure,
before Peggotty came down, even to think more leniently of the weakness
of it: as I sat counting the ticking of the clock, and deepening my
sense of the solemn hush around me. Peggotty took me in her arms, and
blessed and thanked me over and over again for being such a comfort to
her (that was what she said) in her distress. She then entreated me to
come upstairs, sobbing that Mr. Barkis had always liked me and admired
me; that he had often talked of me, before he fell into a stupor; and
that she believed, in case of his coming to himself again, he would
brighten up at sight of me, if he could brighten up at any earthly
thing.

The probability of his ever doing so, appeared to me, when I saw him, to
be very small. He was lying with his head and shoulders out of bed, in
an uncomfortable attitude, half resting on the box which had cost him so
much pain and trouble. I learned, that, when he was past creeping out of
bed to open it, and past assuring himself of its safety by means of the
divining rod I had seen him use, he had required to have it placed on
the chair at the bed-side, where he had ever since embraced it, night
and day. His arm lay on it now. Time and the world were slipping from
beneath him, but the box was there; and the last words he had uttered
were (in an explanatory tone) 'Old clothes!'

'Barkis, my dear!' said Peggotty, almost cheerfully: bending over him,
while her brother and I stood at the bed's foot. 'Here's my dear boy--my
dear boy, Master Davy, who brought us together, Barkis! That you sent
messages by, you know! Won't you speak to Master Davy?'

He was as mute and senseless as the box, from which his form derived the
only expression it had.

'He's a going out with the tide,' said Mr. Peggotty to me, behind his
hand.

My eyes were dim and so were Mr. Peggotty's; but I repeated in a
whisper, 'With the tide?'

'People can't die, along the coast,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'except when
the tide's pretty nigh out. They can't be born, unless it's pretty nigh
in--not properly born, till flood. He's a going out with the tide. It's
ebb at half-arter three, slack water half an hour. If he lives till it
turns, he'll hold his own till past the flood, and go out with the next
tide.'

We remained there, watching him, a long time--hours. What mysterious
influence my presence had upon him in that state of his senses, I shall
not pretend to say; but when he at last began to wander feebly, it is
certain he was muttering about driving me to school.

'He's coming to himself,' said Peggotty.

Mr. Peggotty touched me, and whispered with much awe and reverence.
'They are both a-going out fast.'

'Barkis, my dear!' said Peggotty.

'C. P. Barkis,' he cried faintly. 'No better woman anywhere!'

'Look! Here's Master Davy!' said Peggotty. For he now opened his eyes.

I was on the point of asking him if he knew me, when he tried to stretch
out his arm, and said to me, distinctly, with a pleasant smile:

'Barkis is willin'!'

And, it being low water, he went out with the tide.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: A Loss When David arrives at Yarmouth, he visits Mr. Omer, who tells him that Little Em'ly has not seemed herself recently. Mr. Omer also says that Martha, a friend of Little Em'ly's, has been missing since David was last in Yarmouth. David goes to Peggotty's house, where Mr. Peggotty and Little Em'ly are sitting in the kitchen, helping Peggotty. David learns that Mr. Barkis is unconscious and expected to die very soon. Mr. Peggotty says that Mr. Barkis will die with the receding tide. Little Em'ly seems unusually upset and hardly raises her eyes to say hello to David. Mr. Barkis dies as the tide recedes.