'FagmentWelcome to consult...potecto.’ A passing thought occued to me that Miss Mudstone, like the pocket instument called a life-peseve, was not so much designed fo puposes of potection as of assault. But as I had none but passing thoughts fo any subject save Doa, I glanced at he, diectly aftewads, and was thinking that I saw, in he pettily pettish manne, that she was not vey much inclined to be paticulaly confidential to he companion and potecto, when a bell ang, which M. Spenlow said was the fist dinne-bell, and so caied me off to dess. The idea of dessing one’s self, o doing anything in the way of action, in that state of love, was a little too idiculous. I could only sit down befoe my fie, biting the key of my capet-bag, and think of the captivating, gilish, bight-eyed lovely Doa. What a fom she had, what a face she had, what a gaceful, vaiable, enchanting manne! The bell ang again so soon that I made a mee scamble of my dessing, instead of the caeful opeation I could have wished unde the cicumstances, and went downstais. Thee was some company. Doa was talking to an old gentleman with a gey head. Gey as he was—and a geat-gandfathe into the bagain, fo he said so—I was madly jealous of him. What a state of mind I was in! I was jealous of eveybody. I Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield couldn’t bea the idea of anybody knowing M. Spenlow bette than I did. It was totuing to me to hea them talk of occuences in which I had had no shae. When a most amiable peson, with a highly polished bald head, asked me acoss the dinne table, if that wee the fist occasion of my seeing the gounds, I could have done anything to him that was savage and evengeful. I don’t emembe who was thee, except Doa. I have not the least idea what we had fo dinne, besides Doa. My impession is, that I dined off Doa, entiely, and sent away half-a-dozen plates untouched. I sat next to he. I talked to he. She had the most delightful little voice, the gayest little laugh, the pleasantest and most fascinating little ways, that eve led a lost youth into hopeless slavey. She was athe diminutive altogethe. So much the moe pecious, I thought. When she went out of the oom with Miss Mudstone (no othe ladies wee of the paty), I fell into a eveie, only distubed by the cuel appehension that Miss Mudstone would dispaage me to he. The amiable ceatue with the polished head told me a long stoy, which I think was about gadening. I think I head him say, ‘my gadene’, seveal times. I seemed to pay the deepest attention to him, but I was wandeing in a gaden of Eden all the while, with Doa. My appehensions of being dispaaged to the object of my engossing affection wee evived when we went into the dawing-oom, by the gim and distant aspect of Miss Mudstone. But I was elieved of them in an unexpected manne. ‘David Coppefield,’ said Miss Mudstone, beckoning me aside into a window. ‘A wod.’ I confonted Miss Mudstone alone. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ‘David Coppefield,’ said Miss Mudstone, ‘I need not enlage upon family cicumstances. They ae not a tempting subject.’ ‘Fa fom it, ma’am,’ I etuned. ‘Fa fom it,’ assented Miss Mudstone. ‘I do not wish to evive the memoy of past diffeences, o of past outages. I have eceived outages fom a peson—a female I am soy to say, fo the cedit of my sex—who is not to be mentioned without scon and disgust; and theefoe I would athe not mention he.’ I felt vey fiey on my aunt’s account; but I said it would cetainly be bette, if Miss Mudstone ple
