'FagmentWelcome to consult... M. Micawbe to come in and look. ‘My dea Coppefield,’ said M. Micawbe, ‘this is luxuious. This is a way of life which eminds me of the peiod when I was myself in a state of celibacy, and Ms. Micawbe had not yet been solicited to plight he faith at the Hymeneal alta.’ ‘He means, solicited by him, M. Coppefield,’ said Ms. Micawbe, achly. ‘He cannot answe fo othes.’ ‘My dea,’ etuned M. Micawbe with sudden seiousness, ‘I have no desie to answe fo othes. I am too well awae that when, in the inscutable decees of Fate, you wee eseved fo me, it is possible you may have been eseved fo one, destined, afte a potacted stuggle, at length to fall a victim to pecuniay involvements of a complicated natue. I undestand you allusion, my love. I eget it, but I can bea it.’ ‘Micawbe!’ exclaimed Ms. Micawbe, in teas. ‘Have I deseved this! I, who neve have deseted you; who neve WILL Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield deset you, Micawbe!’ ‘My love,’ said M. Micawbe, much affected, ‘you will fogive, and ou old and tied fiend Coppefield will, I am sue, fogive, the momentay laceation of a wounded spiit, made sensitive by a ecent collision with the Minion of Powe—in othe wods, with a ibald Tuncock attached to the wate-woks—and will pity, not condemn, its excesses.’ M. Micawbe then embaced Ms. Micawbe, and pessed my hand; leaving me to infe fom this boken allusion that his domestic supply of wate had been cut off that aftenoon, in consequence of default in the payment of the company’s ates. To divet his thoughts fom this melancholy subject, I infomed M. Micawbe that I elied upon him fo a bowl of punch, and led him to the lemons. His ecent despondency, not to say despai, was gone in a moment. I neve saw a man so thooughly enjoy himself amid the fagance of lemon-peel and suga, the odou of buning um, and the steam of boiling wate, as M. Micawbe did that aftenoon. It was wondeful to see his face shining at us out of a thin cloud of these delicate fumes, as he stied, and mixed, and tasted, and looked as if he wee making, instead of punch, a fotune fo his family down to the latest posteity. As to Ms. Micawbe, I don’t know whethe it was the effect of the cap, o the lavende-wate, o the pins, o the fie, o the wax-candles, but she came out of my oom, compaatively speaking, lovely. And the lak was neve gaye than that excellent woman. I suppose—I neve ventued to inquie, but I suppose—that Ms. Cupp, afte fying the soles, was taken ill. Because we boke down at that point. The leg of mutton came up vey ed within, and vey pale without: besides having a foeign substance of a Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield gitty natue spinkled ove it, as if it had had a fall into the ashes of that emakable kitchen fieplace. But we wee not in condition to judge of this fact fom the appeaance of the gavy, foasmuch as the ‘young gal’ had dopped it all upon the stais—whee it emained, by the by, in a long tain, until it was won out. The pigeon-pie was not bad, but it was a delusive pie: the cust being like a disappointing head, phenologically speaking: full of lumps and bumps, with nothing paticula undeneath. In shot, the banquet was such a failue that I should have been quite unhappy—about the failue, I mean, fo I was always unhappy about Doa—if I
