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Hello and welcome to Storytime for Grown Ups. I'm Faith Moore and this season we're reading David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Each episode I'll read a few chapters from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time. Hello. Welcome back. I'm so glad you're here. We have so much to talk about. I feel like maybe even more to talk about after this chapter than after the chapter where it was revealed what the big thing was that was going to happen. I don't know. So many different, different things happened in this last chapter that I feel like we have lots to discuss. And it's kind of a longest chapter that's coming up. So I won't take too much of your time right now at the beginning. The only reminder that I have is that tonight, so if you're listening in real time, it is tonight. Thursday, April 30th at 8pm is tea time. Tea time happens over in our online community which is called the Drawing room because in order to old Victorian houses there was always a drawing room and it was short for withdrawing room because it was where you would withdraw after dinner was over. You would go in there and you would chat with your house guests or your family members. You might read, you might play board games or card games and you would talk about life and you would talk about what you were reading and the gossip and that's what we like to do every month. We like to withdraw to the drawing room, which is our online community and chat. And so that is going to happen happen tonight at 8pm Eastern and I hope that you will come. If you are not yet a member and it is not yet passed, if you're listening to this in real time and it is not yet tonight, then you can still sign up and join us. The link to do that is in the show notes. You just click that link, it tells you all about the drawing room and it gives you some options and you can decide if you would like to sign up. You have to be a member of the landed gentry membership tier in order to participate in tea time. If you're not that, if you're a house guest at moment and you would like to switch to Landed Gendry, you can also do that by clicking that link. So I hope that you'll check it out and I hope that you'll join us tonight at 8:00pm Eastern to chat. We can chat all about the crazy goings on that have been happening in this book so far. And I have a lot of other things I want to discuss with you, so hopefully it'll be a really fun time. I always enjoy it. The time always flies by. So I'm looking forward to chatting with my old friends and I hope to meet some new ones tonight as well. So please do join us. Okay? Other than that, everything else is the same. Please subscribe. Please tap the five stars. Please leave a nice positive review if you're enjoying the show. I love to read them and also it helps people to find the show who maybe haven't heard of it before. And that's wonderful because the more the merrier. And speaking of that, please also tell a friend, tell a colleague, tell a family member, tell whoever about this show. And let's get more people listening because the more people talking about these books together, the better the world will be. All right, let's get right into this. So last time we read chapter 32, today we're going to be reading chapter 33. So let's review what happened last time. There was a lot. Then we'll chat and then we'll get into this chapter. So here is the recap. All right, so where we left off in the aftermath of Steerforth running off with Emily, David says that while he can never be friends with Steerforth ever again, he still has a kind of fondness in his heart for him and for the friendship that they shared. David stays with the Peggotty family and tries to be of assistance. He finds that everyone in the town now knows what happened and they are all very sorry for Mr. Peggotty and Ham. Mr. Peggotty decides that he's going to roam the world in search of Emily and that Ham will stay on in the town and continue working. Mrs. Gummage suddenly becomes very attentive and caring and supportive of Mr. Peggy and says that she will stay at the house now and be there if Emily ever returns. Mr. Omer and his family, who David goes to visit, express their condolences as well. Mr. Peggotty says he wants to go to London and David says he'll go with him and help him with whatever he needs. The night before they leave, David is alone at Peggy's house when Ms. Moucher, Steerforth's hairdresser, shows up, very upset and much more sad serious than she was last time. And she explains that she unknowingly helped Steerforth and Emily run away by passing on a letter to Emily, but that she thought it was from David and it was more of an innocent flirtation. She feels bad and she wants David to understand that she didn't mean to help Steerforth and Emily to run off together. The next day, Ham tells David to help Mr. Peggy where he can and to make sure that the money that Ham makes gets to him to help him in his search. Then David, Mr. Peggotty and Peggy head off for London where they visit Mrs. Steerforth. Mr. Peggotty asks her to try to convince Steerforth to marry Emily, but Mrs. Steerforth refuses, saying it would lower him socially. Mr. Peggotty tries to get her to relent by saying that he and his family will stay away from Emily if she's married to Steerforth, but it's no good. So Mr. Peggotty says he expected nothing less and he leaves. On the way out, Ms. Darnell berates David for bringing Mr. Peggotty there and upsetting the mother. But David says that Mr. Peggotty has a right to say what he said and so they leave. Mr. Peggoty then packs his things and sets off to look for Emily for as long as it takes to find her. Alright, I'm going to read 5 comments today. The first one comes from Alan robson. He says Mr. Peggotty goes up in my estimation after every encounter we have with him. His conversation with Mrs. Steerforth shows this very well. All the things that he could have said, diplomatically or not, would have been quite appropriate. Yet he did not, choosing to be much more kind than she had a right to expect. We see where Steerforth gets his ill manners from his mother. Mr. Peggotty could have asked her why she taught her son that it was okay to run off with Emily. Why did she accept and defend her son in a situation for which there is no defense? Isn't her son and his reputation ruined? That Mrs. Steerforth maintains herself as an aggrieved party while accepting no share in the blame for the situation is most telling. And this next one comes from Anne. She says, as if I could not dislike Steerforth's family enough. You read this chapter when Emily's uncle volunteered to never see her again. It reminded me of the Old Testament story about the two mothers who asked King Solomon to determine who was the rightful mother. The true mother was willing to give up her son rather than see him cut in half. Her uncle has the same morals and strength of character. The Steerforths have none. My heart breaks for Mr. Peggotty. The next one comes from Carol. She says Ms. Dardle's extreme venom towards Emily. Not only that Emily should suffer, but that she, Ms. Dardle, longs to be the agent of that suffering can only come from a heart betrayed. So while it's nasty, I understand it, for her own sake, she'd best learn to forgive and let go. And this next one comes from our online community, the Drawing Room. And this person goes by the handle IL V. He says Ms. Moucher in our first meeting seemed so fluent with gossip and personalities and vanity. Here her conscience is racked for the small part she played in this illicit liaison. She reveals to David that the volatile put on is a defensive front. I bet she does keep her ear to the ground for our ill fated tristers. And the last one comes from Paul Titcomb and he's writing in for himself and Debbie. And they say in discussing chapter 32. So 32 is the one before, the one that we're going to be talking about today. You did not cover the last paragraph, which was to us, the very best of the chapter. Mrs. Gummidge reminds everyone of the faith that built and sustained their family, how they have lived and how they need to go on living. Okay, so there is a lot going on in chapter 32. And what makes it a little daunting to try to talk about is that there are several sort of semi distinct sections that are related but can really be talked about as their own entities. And I want to make sure to hit on all of them, which is why I picked the letters I did and why I picked so many. Because I think that these letters are cover all of our topics today, pretty much. So here are the things that I want to touch on. I want to talk about Mr. Peggy's character and what we learn about him throughout this chapter. And within that, I'll talk a bit about Mrs. Gummage. I want to talk about this scene between Mr. Peggy and Mrs. Steerforth and what that reveals to us. I want to talk about Ms. Moucher and what she's doing back again. And I want to talk about Ms. Dardle and what's going on with her in regards to Steerforth running off with Emily. And I think that's it. So I may bounce around a little bit, but I'm going to try to hit on all of those distinct topics. But before we move on to today's chapter. But I think if I had to kind of tie all of these things together under one umbrella, I would say that this chapter is essentially a comparison between two families, the Peggotty family and the Steerforth family. One is this lower class, simple, uneducated family, and the other is this upper class, proud, highly sophisticated family. And now these two families have been sort of forced into close proximity with one another and forced into comparison to one another. They've been joined together by the relationship between Steerforth and Emily. And if we step outside of the emotionality of all of this, which I only want to do for a second because the emotionality to me is the whole point of it, but if we take a step back just for a second, there is clearly an element of social commentary going on here. Dickens is showing us, as he has been doing throughout this whole book, I think he's showing us that wealth and class and social standing is not actually the measure of a person's worth. That there are good and bad people in every walk of life. And your blood, as they would have said back then, your lineage and your place in the social hierarchy, they really don't mean much when you get right down to the nitty gritty of who you actually are on the inside. And this is illustrated to us incredibly clearly in this interaction between Mr. Peggotty and Mrs. Steerforth. I love that Anne referenced that story from the Old Testament about the mothers, because I think it's really apt here. Mrs. Steers Steerforth is concerned solely with appearances, with what is acceptable, with social etiquette. Her main aim in this situation is to shield her family from scandal and to make it so that Steerforth can eventually marry a proper upper class girl and live a proper upper class sort of scandal free life. She doesn't care about anything else. She doesn't care about Emily. She doesn't even really care about Steerforth's feelings. Like if it turns out that Steerforth really does truly love Emily and want to marry her, which is still on the table, although I think it's unlikely, likely, but it's. It's still out there. If that was what ended up happening, Mrs. Steerforth would disown him rather than accept into her family this lower class girl who would then taint their blood with her lower class blood and taint their family with her lower class relations. But Mr. Peggotty only cares about Emily. He wants nothing more than for Emily to be safe and cared for and loved and that she not be a social outcast or a pariah. And because of that, but he is willing to never see her again. This girl that he loves more than anything on the whole face of the earth, he's willing to never see her again if she marries Steerforth. So as not to offend the Steerforth family with his lower class presence. Here's what he says. He says, but save her from this disgrace and she shall never be disgraced by us. Not one of us that she's growed up among. Not one of us that's lived along with her and had her for there all in all these many year, will ever look upon her pretty face again, Will be content to let her be, Will be content to think of her far off as if she was underneath another sun and sky. We'll be content to trust her to her husband, to her little children perhaps, and bide the time when all of us shall be alike in quality afore our God. Oh, it's so moving, isn't it? You see, the idea back then was that you weren't just marrying the person, you were marrying that person's family as well. And it would be scandalous to have to accept into your family these lower class fishermen when you were at upper class genteel family. So Mr. Peggotty is saying he'll remove that problem by never seeing Emily again. By allowing the Steerforth to pretend essentially that she's not from this lower class family and never embarrassing the Steerforths by showing up and revealing her origins. He's willing to do that for Emily to save her from ruin. Because like we were saying last time, the only hope here for Emily is if Steerforth marries her. And Mr. Peggotty is saying that he'll do anything, even never see his beloved girl Again, if Mrs. Steerforth will convince Steerforth to marry Emily. Compare that then to what Mrs. Steerforth is willing to do for her child. The child that she also loves more than anyone else on earth, who she has spoiled and given into on all sorts of occasions, such that he really didn't have any role models or good moral examples. She says, here's a quote. Let him put away his whim now and he is welcome back. Let him not put her away now and he never shall come near me, living or dying, while I can raise my hand to make a sign against it. Unless being rid of her forever, he comes humbly to me and begs for my forgiveness. Okay, so one parental figure is willing to put aside his pride and never see his adopted daughter again. To save her from ruin and to allow her to live happily in the life she's chosen. And the other parental figure is willing to completely disown her son in of spite service of pride. She would rather pretend that he doesn't exist than acknowledge that he has chosen to Marry a lower class girl. They're both saying they're willing to never see their children again. But one is saying it out of love and one is saying it out of pride. So who is the better person? Who is at heart the more upstanding parent? It's Mr. Peggotty, of course. Simple, lower class, uneducated Mr. Peggotty. And like Alan says, Mrs. Steerforth ultimately tries to turn herself into a victim here. She says this is a quote. What compensation can you make to me for opening such a pit between me and my son? What is your love to mine? What is your separation to ours? But that's exactly what we were just talking about. Mr. Peggy's love is pure and unconditional. He loves Emily just as much now that she's ruined, as he's always done. And all he wants to do is find some way for her to live happily and comfortably, even if it means living without him. Whereas Mrs. Steerforth's love is conditional. She'll disown her son if he marries Emily because it'll look bad, essentially. And to Allan's point about Steerforth's reputation being ruined too, the totally unfair thing here is that while Emily's reputation is ruined already because she has slept with Steerforth and lived with Steerforth out of wedlock and her reputation can only be saved if they get married and Steerforth's reputation can only be saved if they don't get married. It wasn't a complete like social death sentence for a man to do something like this. He wouldn't be blamed. I mean, he'd be seen as a cad. And mothers would want to shield their daughters from someone like that if it came out that he'd done this. But he could still marry a nice, wealthy upper class woman. But if he married Emily, then he would ostracize himself from polite upper class society because no one would want to escape associate with his lower class wife. So Emily will be a social pariah if Steerforth doesn't marry her. But Steerforth would get off scot free and be able to go on and marry somebody else. So Mrs. Steerforth is trying to save his reputation by saying she won't try to convince her son to marry Emily and in fact she's going to actively try to prevent it. And in saying that she's a victim here, she is essentially blaming Emily. She's saying that Emily somehow seduced or enticed sear forth into this situation and that Steerforth is a victim too, since he can't be expected to resist a Girl who throws herself at him and allows him sexual freedoms. And all of this she's saying Emily is a whore, essentially, which of course, is also awful. And as Alan says, Mr. Peggotty would have been justified in saying all manner of things to Mrs. Steerforth after that. But he doesn't. And he doesn't, because essentially he knew that this visit would be just a formality. He understood the class dynamics and everything that was in play here. And he knew that an upper class mother wouldn't consent meant to her son marrying a lower class girl. But he felt he had to try, you know, for Emily's sake and to give Mrs. Steerforth and the Steerforth family the benefit of the doubt. But he clearly knew it wouldn't come to anything. So he just takes all their insults and her accusations and he goes on his way, which again, makes him the better person, the much better person, as far as I'm concerned. And Ms. Dardle blames Emily as well. I mean, Mrs. Steerforth at least seems to see that Mr. Peggotty is in a very difficult situation and that it's because of something that at least relates to her son. And she does seem to have some sympathy for him. But Ms. Dardle is just absolutely venomous. Here. Here's what she says. I would have her branded on the face. Her being Emily, right? Dressed in rags and cast out in the streets to starve. If I had the power to sit in judgment on her, I would see it done. See it done. I would do it. I detest her. If I ever could reproach her with her infamous condition, I would go anywhere to do so. If I could hunt her to her grave, I would. If there was any word of comfort, that would be a solace to her in her dying hour. And only I possessed it. I wouldn't part with it for life itself. I mean, like, whoa, what the heck, right? That's seriously uncalled for. But I think that Carol is right here. I think that we're meant to feel, and we talked about this a little bit before, but we're meant to feel that Ms. Dardall is in love with Steerforth, that she's been in love with him for a very long time, probably since they were children. And that Steerforth's charming way of sort of flirting with everyone probably gave her some false hope, that perhaps he loved her too and would one day marry her. And I think that's what Ms. Dardle means when she says, I know that James Steerforth has a false, corrupt heart and is a traitor but what need I know or care about this fellow and his common niche? Okay, so she's saying that she knows that Steerforth isn't going to be true to her, isn't going to honor whatever flirtation or mock relationship that they had as children. But choosing a common fisherman's niece over her, Ms. Dardall, that is unforgivable. In other words, if he'd married some rich heiress or something, Ms. Dardall would have been upset, but she would have understood. But to pick someone like little Emily when he could have had Ms. Dardle, that's the true sin in her eyes. And that's why she's so angry with little Emily. How could this lower class girl be better than Rosa Dardle, who is a perfectly acceptable upper class girl? So again, here is the Steerforth family thinking only of themselves, only of what this means for them and their status and their feelings, and blaming Emily rather than Steerforth, and refusing to hear the pleas of Mr. Peggotty, who is trying to literally save his child from ruin, whereas they're just trying to save face and society. Here's the Steerforth family compared to the Peggy family, who are all without hesitation ready to accept Emily back into the fold and who love her until their dying days. Class is not what makes a person a good person. It's fellow feeling. It's love for your fellow man and forgiveness for those whom you love unconditionally. Because that's what it means to love unconditionally. Which, like Phil says, is, I think, what Ms. Moucher is doing in this chapter, David. And therefore we wrote off Ms. Moucher as a sort of gossipy, fairly superficial kind of person who would probably have laughed about this situation with Steerforth and Emily and kind of of stored it up as gossip to pass on to her next client or whatever. But in fact, she's not that at all. And she feels terrible for the part she unknowingly played in Steerforth and Emily's Running Away. And we learn that because she's a dwarf and therefore seen as less than in the eyes of society, she's had to adopt this very chatty, somewhat scandalous Persona so as to be accepted by the upper class people as their hairdresser. As a kind of fun little oddity. Because then she can make money and support her siblings who are also dwarves, and perhaps don't have the talent has for playing this part. So again, appearances are deceiving. The poorest among us can be the purest among us. The richest can be the most depraved those who look different or seem strange might actually be kind and intelligent and quick to help. Ms. Moucher says, Here's a quote. I must live. I do no harm. If there are people so unreflecting or so cruel as to make a jest of me, what is left for me to do but to make a jest of my, myself, them and everything? If I do so for the time, whose fault is that? Mine. So again and again, Dickens is saying, don't judge a book by its cover. Essentially, don't make assumptions about people based on where they sit on the social hierarchy. Judge people based on their actual merits. And when you do that, you may find that your allies are not the people that society upholds as the upright and the virtuous. They are, in fact, fishermen and dwarves and lone lorn women. Which brings me to Mrs. Gummage. Now, Paul and Debbie are right. I didn't talk about Mrs. Gummmage last time because I knew that I was going to talk about her today. Because here's the thing. When you're a man like Mr. Peggety who loves unconditionally and stands by his principles and acts on them, you attract people who are also good and loyal and true. And while everything was going fine and Mr. Peggy was perfectly happy and content, Mrs. Gummage could moan and complain and whine in her corner and annoy everyone. But the moment that Mr. Peggoty is in trouble, the moment he needs a friend, up jumps Mrs. Gummage and answers the call. Now, I don't know about you, but I actually know people a lot like this. People who are excellent in an emergency, but kind of a mess otherwise. And that's Mrs. Gummage. The minute something actually bad happens, she's like, I've been preparing for this all my life. I'm ready. I've been practicing having there be something bad. But since there wasn't anything bad, people thought I was annoying. But now there is something bad. And here I am. Put me in coach. Right, David says. Here's a quote. We insensibly approached the old boat and entered. Mrs. Gummage, no longer moping in her especial corner, was busy preparing breakfast. She took Mr. Peggotty's hat and placed his seat for him and spoke so comfortably and softly that I hardly knew her. Okay. And she's suddenly not willing to let her own distress show because she understands that Mr. Peggotty's distress is much worse. It's like she's been waiting for a crisis and when she didn't have one, she wasn't able to care for Mr. Peggy the way that she wanted to. She always felt he didn't need her. But now that there is a crisis, she doesn't need to be so lone and lorn. Here's what David I did not even observe her voice to falter or a tear to escape from her eyes the whole day through until twilight when she and I and Mr. Peggotty being alone together and he having fallen asleep in perfect exhaustion, she broke into a half suppressed fit of sobbing and crying and taking me to the door, said ever bless you Master Davy. Be a friend to him, poor dear. Then she immediately ran out of the house to wash her face in order that she might sit quietly beside him and be found at work there when he should awake. Okay, so because Mr. Peggy has taken such good care of the people around him when he is brought low, the people around him come to his aid. And so I want to end by talking about Mr. Peggotty because I think that in this chapter Mr. Peggotty becomes almost like a character out of mythology or out of a fairy tale or something. He becomes somehow larger than life and filled with this otherworldly purpose. He says, my duty here, sir, is done. I'm a going to seek my. And then it says he stopped and went on in a firmer voice. I'm a going to seek her. That's my duty evermore. So it's almost like he's becoming an immortal being or something, searching the world over, never stopping, never resting until he finds her. And he's arranged it so that the house, right, the boat where he lived with Emily, it will also never change. He says, my wishes is sir as it shall look day and night, winter and summer, as it has always looked since she first knowed it. If ever she should come a wandering back, I wouldn't have the old place seem to cast her off, you understand, but seem to tempt her to draw nigher to it and to peep in maybe like a ghost, ghost out of the wind and rain, through the old window, at the old seat by the fire. Then maybe Master Davy, seeing none but Mrs. Gummage there, she might take heart to creep in trembling and might come to be laid down in her old bed and rest her weary head where it was once so gay. Which is sort of like a fairy tale or a legend too, right? This house that always stays the same and never changes even as time passes. And this man who wanders the world always searching for his long lost beloved girl also the way that he doesn't yell at Mrs. Steerforth or tell her off. The way he allows Ms. Dardle to say awful things about Emily within his earshot, it's like he's somehow risen above it all. And the only thing that animates him is this quest he's now on to find his niece. David says this is a quote he told me as soon as I came up with him, that having now discharged his mind of what he had purposed doing in London, he meant to set out on his trip. Travels. That night, I asked him where he meant to go. He only answered, I'm a going, sir, to seek my niece. So it's almost like something else will guide him. He doesn't need a plan or to know where to look. He'll just travel on and on until he finds her. Be it days or months or years or lifetimes, it seems like. And the last thing that he says to David before leaving is, if any hurt should come to me, remember that the last words I left for her was. Was my unchanged love is with my darling child, and I forgive her. Which is so moving because of what we were talking about before that many families, for example, the Steerforth family, would disown a girl like Emily. But Mr. Peggotty never even entertains that idea. Instead, he's now animated by this one purpose and this one purpose only, to find her and bring her home and to make sure she knows that he never stopped loving her and that he forgives her. Ugh. I mean, it's so moving. And this aura of mythology and fairy tale. It follows Mr. Peggotty as he sets off on this journey. Dickens gives him this air of mythology. In the writing, it says, it was a warm, dusty evening, just the time when, in the great main thoroughfare out of which that byway turned, there was a temporary lull in the eternal tread of feet upon the pavement and a strong red sunshine. He turned alone at the corner of our shady street into a glow of light in which we lost him. I mean, it's fairy tale. It's mythology or saintliness, right? He disappears in a glow of light. There's an otherworldliness to this. And then finally, David tells us that Mr. Peggotty has become a sort of fixture in his mind. He says, rarely did that hour of the evening come. Rarely did I wake at night. Rarely did I look up at the moon or stars, or watch the falling rain or hear the wind. But I thought of his solitary figure toiling on. Poor pilgrim. Okay, so Mr. Peggotty, in his love for Emily, has become like a figure of legend, otherworldly and somehow more than human, whereas Mrs. Steerforth and Ms. Dardle have shown how small and how petty and how human they are in comparison. So what will happen now, right? Will Emily be found? What about all the other things going on in David's life? Will we come back to that? What about baggage now that Barcas is dead? There's all kinds of balls in the air, actually. And I know I've been talking for a long time, this is a very long intro, but there was so much to cover and there is still more to find out. And there's only one way to do that, which is of course to keep reading, but also don't forget to write to me. It's faith k.moore.com and then click on Contact or scroll into the show notes and click the link below. That's there. I really hope that you will get in touch. I really do want to hear all of your comments and thoughts about this chapter, and I hope to see you tonight. If you're listening in real time. Thursday, April 30th tonight at 8pm Eastern in the drawing room for tea time. All right, let's get started with chapter 33 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time, Chapter 33 blissful all this time I had gone on loving Dora harder than ever. Her idea was my refuge in disappointment and distress, and made some amends to me even for the loss of my friend. The more I pitied myself or pitied others, the more I sought for consolation in the image of Dora, the greater the accumulation of deceit and trouble in the world, the brighter and the purer shone the star of Dora, high above the world. I don't think I had any definite idea where Dora came from or in what degree she was related to a higher order of beings, but I am quite sure I should have scouted the notion of her being simply human, like any other young lady, with indignation and contempt. If I may so express it, I was steeped in Dora. I was not merely over head and ears in love with her, but I was. I was saturated through and through. Enough love might have been wrung out of me, metaphorically speaking, to drown anybody in. And yet there would have remained enough within me and all over me to pervade my entire existence. The first thing I did on my own account when I came back was to take a night walk to Norwood and, like the subject of a venerable riddle of my childhood, to go round and round the house without ever touching the House. House. Thinking about Dora, I believe the theme of this incomprehensible conundrum was the moon. No matter what it was, I, the moonstruck slave of Dora, perambulated round and round the house and garden for two hours looking through crevices in the palings, getting my chin by dint of violent exertion above the rusty nails on the top, blowing kisses at the lights in the windows and romantically calling on the night at intervals devils to shield. My Dora, I don't exactly know what from. I suppose from fireperhaps from mice, to which she had a great objection. My love was so much in my mind and it was so natural to me to confide in Peggotty when I found her again by my side of an evening with the old set of industrial implements busily making the tour of my wardrobe that I imparted to her in a sufficiently roundabout way my great secret. Peggotty was strongly interested, but I could not get her into my view of the case at all. All she was audaciously prejudiced in my favour and quite unable to understand why I should have any misgivings or be low spirited about it. The young lady might think herself well off, she observed, to have such a beau. And as to her pa, she said, what did the gentleman expect for gracious sake? I Observed, however, that Mr. Spenlow's proctorial gown and stiff cravat took Peggotty down a little and inspired her with a greater reverence for the man who was gradually becoming more and more etherealized in my eyes every day and about whom a reflected radiance seemed to me to beam when he sat erect in court among his papers like a little lighthouse in a sea of stationery. And by the by, it used to be uncommonly strange to me to consider. I remember, as I sat in court too, how those dim old judges and doctors wouldn't have cared for Dora if they had known her. How they wouldn't have gone out of their senses with rapture if marriage with Dora had been proposed to them. Them. How Dora might have sung and played upon that glorified guitar until she led me to the verge of madness, yet not have tempted one of those slow goers an inch out of his road. I despised them. To a man frozen out old gardeners in the flower beds of the heart I took a personal offence against them all. The bench was nothing to me but an insensible blunderer. The bar had no more tenderness or poetry in it than the bar of a Public house. House. Taking the management of Peggotty's affairs into my own hands. With no little pride I proved the will and came to a settlement with the Legacy Duty office and took her to the bank and soon got everything into an orderly train. We varied the legal character of these proceedings by going to see some perspiring waxwork in Fleet street melted I should hope these 20 years and by visiting Ms. Lynwood's exhibition which I remember as a mausoleum of needlework work favourable to self examination and repentance. And by inspecting the Tower of London and going to the top of St. Paul's all these wonders afforded Peggotty as much pleasure as she was able to enjoy under existing circumstances. Except I think, St. Paul's which from her long attachment to her workbox became a rival of the picture on the lid and was in some particulars vanquished, she considered by that work of art, Peggotty's business business which was what we used to call common form business in the Commons and very light and lucrative. The common form business was being settled. I took her down to the office one morning to pay her bill. Mr. Spenlow had stepped out. Old Tiffy said to get a gentleman sworn for a marriage license. But as I knew he would be back directly our place lying close to the surrogates and to the Vicar General's office too. I told Peggy to wait. We were a little like undertaker in the Commons as regarded probate transactions generally making it a rule to look more or less cut up when we had to deal with clients in mourning. In a similar feeling of delicacy we were always blythe and light hearted with the license clients. Therefore I hinted to Peggotty that she would find Mr. Spenlow much recovered from the shock of Mr. Barkis's decease. And indeed he came in like a bridegroom. So he's saying that the lawyers act according to what kind of cases it is. So when it's a marriage license case they act happy. When it's a will that needs to be dealt with they act sad. So when Peggotty first met Mr. Spenlow he acted sad because they were talking about Mr. Barkus's will. But now he's been dealing with someone's marriage license so he's acting happy. But neither Peggy nor I had eyes for him. When we saw in company with him Mr. Murdstone, he was very little changed. His hair looked as thick and was certainly as black as ever. And his glance was as little to be trusted as of old ah, Copperfield, said Mr. Spenlow. You know this gentleman, I believe. I made my gentleman a distant bow and Peggotty barely recognized him, meaning she hardly acknowledged him. Not that she didn't know who he was. She does know, and she's purposely not giving him the proper courtesies because she hates him so much. He was at first somewhat disconcerted to meet us two together, but quickly decided what to do and came up to me. Me, I hope, he said, that you are doing well. It can hardly be interesting to you, said I. Yes, if you wish to know. We looked at each other and he addressed himself to Peggotty. And you, said he, I am sorry to observe that you have lost your husband. It is not the first loss I have had in my life, Mr. Murdstone, replied Peggotty, trembling from head to foot. It. I am glad to hope that there is nobody to blame for this one, nobody to answer for it. She's implying that she also lost David's mother and that Mr. Murdstone was to blame for that. Ha, said he. That's a comfortable reflection. Have you done your duty? I have not worn anybody's life away, said Peggotty. I am thankful to think. No, Mr. Murdstone, I have not worrited and frightened any sweet creature to an early grave. He eyed her gloomily, remorsefully, I thought for an instant, and said, turning his head towards me, but looking at my feet instead of my face, we are not likely to encounter soon again. A source of satisfaction to us both, no doubt, for such meetings as this can never be agreeable. I do not expect that you, who always rebelled against my just authority, exerted for your benefit and reformation, should owe me any good will. Now there is an antipathy between us, an old one, I believe, said I, interrupting him. He smiled and shot as evil a glance at me as could come from his dark eyes. It rankled your baby breast, he said. It embittered the life of your poor mother. You're right. I hope you may do better yet I hope you may correct yourself here. He ended the dialogue, which had been carried on in a low voice in a corner of the outer office, by passing into Mr. Spenlow's room and saying aloud in his smoothest MANNER, Gentlemen of Mr. Spenlow's profession are accustomed to family differences and know how complicated and difficult they always are. With that he paid the money for his license and receiving it neatly folded from Mr. Spenlow together with a shake of the hand and a polite wish for his happiness. And the ladies Went out of the office. Okay. So it's Mr. Murdstone who is applying for a marriage license. He's going to marry again. I might have had more difficulty in constraining myself to be silent under his words if I had had less difficulty in impressing upon Peggotty, who was only angry on my account. Good creature, that we were not in a place for recrimination and that I besought her to hold her peace. Niece. She was so unusually roused that I was glad to compound for an affectionate hug elicited by this revival in her mind of our old injuries and to make the best I could of it before Mr. Spenlow and the clerks. Mr. Spenlow did not appear to know what the connection between Mr. Murdstone and myself was, which I was glad of, for I could not bear to acknowledge him even in my own breast remembering what I did of the history of my Poor mother. Mother. Mr. Spenlow seemed to think, if he thought anything about the matter, that my aunt was the leader of the state party in our family and that there was a rebel party commanded by somebody else. So I gathered, at least from what he said while we were waiting for Mr. Tiffey to make out Peggotty's bill of costs. Ms. Trotwood, he remarked, is very firm, no doubt, and not likely to give way to opposition. I have an admiration for her character and I may congratulate you, Copperfield, on being on the right side. Differences between relations are much to be deplored, but they are extremely general. And the great thing is to be on the right side, meaning, I take it, on the side of the moneyed interest. Rather a good marriage, this I believe, said Mr. Spenlow. I explained that I knew nothing about it. Indeed, he said, speaking from the few words Mr. Murdstone dropped as a man frequently does on those occasions. And from what Ms. Murdstone let fall, I should say it was rather a good marriage. Do you mean that there is money, sir? I asked. Yes, said Mr. Spenlow. I understand there's money. Beauty, too, I am told. Indeed. Is his new wife young? Just of age, said Mr. Spenlow. So lately I should think they had been waiting for that. That meaning the woman that Mr. Murdstone is going to marry only just became legally allowed to get married. Lord Deliverer, said Peggotty, so very emphatically and unexpectedly that we were all three discomposed until Tiffy came in with the bill. Old Tiffy soon appeared, however, and handed it to Mr. Spenlow to look over Mr. Spenlow, settling his chin in his cravat and rubbing it softly, went over the item with a deprecatory air, as if it were all Jorkins's doing, and handed it back to Tiffy with a bland sigh. Yes, he said, that's right. Quite right. I should have been extremely happy, Copperfield, to have limited these charges to the actual expenditure out of pocket. But it is an irksome incident in my professional life that I am not at liberty to consult my own wishes. I have a partner, Mr. Jorkins, as he said this with a gentle melancholy, which was the next thing to making no charge at all, I expressed my acknowledgments on Peggotty's behalf and paid Tiffy in bank notes. Peggotty then retired to her lodging and Mr. Spenlow and I went into court, where we had a divorce suit coming on under an ingenious little statute, repealed now, I believe, but in virtue of which I have seen several marriages annulled, of which the merits were these. The husband, whose name was Thomas Benjamin, had taken out his marriage license as Thomas, only suppressing the Benjamin in case he should not find himself as comfortable as he had expected. Not finding himself as comfortable as he expected or being a little fatigued with his wife, poor fellow. He now came forward by a friend after being married a year or two, and declared that his name was Thomas Benjamin, and therefore he was not married at all, which the court confirmed to his great satisfaction. I must say that I had my doubts about the strict justice of this and was not even frightened out of them by the bushel of wheat, which reconciles all anomalies, follies. But Mr. Spenlow argued the matter with me. He said, look at the world. There was good and evil in that. Look at the ecclesiastical law. There was good and evil in that. It was all part of a system. Very good. There you were. I had not the hardihood to suggest to Dora's father that possibly we might even improve the world a little if we got up early in the morning and took off our coats to the work. But I confessed that I thought we might improve the common commons. Mr. Spenlow replied that he would particularly advise me to dismiss that idea from my mind as not being worthy of my gentlemanly character, but that he would be glad to hear from me of what improvement I thought the commons susceptible, taking that part of the commons which happened to be nearest to us, for our man was unmarried by this time and we were out of court and strolling Past the Prerogative Office. I submitted that I thought the Prerogative Office rather a queerly mannered managed institution. Mr. Spenlow inquired in what respect? I replied with all due deference to his experience, but with more deference, I am afraid, to his being Dora's father. That perhaps it was a little nonsensical that the registry of that court containing the original wills of all persons leaving effects within the immense province of Canterbury for three whole centuries should be an accidental building, never designed for the purpose purpose leased by the registrars for their own private emolument, unsafe, not even ascertained to be fireproof, choked with the important documents it held, and positively, from the roof to the basement, a mercenary speculation of the registrars who took great fees from the public and crammed the public's wills away anyhow and anywhere, having no other object than to get rid of them cheaply. That perhaps it was a little unreasonable that these registrars, in the receipt of profits amounting to eight or nine thousand pounds a year, to say nothing of the profits of the deputy registrars and clerks of seats, should not be obliged to spend a little of that money in finding a reasonably safe place for the important documents which all classes of people were compelled to hand over to them whether they would or no. That perhaps it was just a little unjust that all the great offices in this great office should be magnificent sinecures, meaning jobs that give people status but don't require much work, while the unfortunate working clerks in the cold, dark room upstairs were the worst rewarded and the least considered men doing important services in London. That perhaps it was a little indecent that the principal registrar of all whose duty it was to find the public constantly resorting to this place, all needful accommodation should be an enormous sinecurist in virtue of that post and might be besides a clergyman, a pluralist, the holder of a staff in a cathedral and whatnot, what not, while the public was put to the inconvenience of which we had a specimen every afternoon when the office was busy and which we knew to be quite monstrous. That perhaps, in short, this prerogative office of the Diocese of Canterbury was altogether such a pestilent job and such a pernicious absurdity that but for its being squeezed away in a corner of St. Paul's Churchyard which few people knew it must have been turned completely inside out and upside down long ago. Go. Okay, so basically this is Dickens making all sorts of complaints about the legal system and how it's run through David. Mr. Spenlo. Smiled as I became modestly warm on the subject and then argued this question with me as he had argued the other. He said, what was it after all? It was a question of feeling. If the public felt that their wills were in safekeeping and took it for granted that the office was not to be made better, who was the worse for it? It Nobody. Who was the better for it? All the sinecurists. Very well, then. The good predominated. It might not be a perfect system. Nothing was perfect. But what he objected to was the insertion of the wedge under the Prerogative Office. The country had been glorious. Insert the wedge into the Prerogative Office and the country would cease to be glorious. He considered it the principle of a gentleman to take things as he found the them, and he had no doubt the Prerogative Office would last our time. I deferred to his opinion, though I had great doubts of it myself. I find he was right, however, for it has not only lasted to the present moment, but has done so in the teeth of a great parliamentary report made not too willingly 18 years ago, when all these objections of mine were set forth in detail and when the existing stowage for wills was described as equal to the accumulation of only two years and a half more, more. What they have done with them since, whether they have lost many or whether they sell any now and then to the butter shops, I don't know. I am glad mine is not there, and I hope it may not go there yet a while. Okay, so apparently the building where they keep the wills is filling up with wills and it's not very well maintained and David wanted that to change, but it still hasn't. Even whenever he's writing this and he's glad he keeps his will somewhere else. I have set all this down in my present blissful chapter because here it comes into its natural place. Place for Mr. Spenlow and I, falling into this conversation prolonged it and our saunter to and fro until we diverged into general topics. And so it came about in the end that Mr. Spenlow told me this day week was Dora's birthday and he would be glad if I would come down and join a little picnic on the occasion I went out of my senses immediately became a mere driveller. Next day, on receipt of a little lace edged sheet of notepaper favored by Papa to remind and pass the intervening period in a state of dotage, I think I committed every possible absurdity in the way of preparation for this blessed event. I turn hot when I Remember, the cravat I bought? My boots might be placed in any collection of instruments of torture I provided and sent down by the Norwood coach the night before. A delicate little hamper, a mounting in itself, I thought almost to a declaration, meaning he felt that the gift he sent might have alerted her to his feelings for her, since it seemed so extravagant to him. There were crackers in it with the tenderest mottoes that could be got for money. At six in the morning I was in Covent Garden market buying a bouquet for Dora. At 10 I was on horseback. I hired a gallant gray for the occasion with the bouquet in my hat to keep it fresh. Trotting down to Norwood. I suppose that when I saw Dora in the garden and pretended not to see her and rode past the house pretending to be anxiously looking for it, I committed two small fooleries which other young gentlemen in my circumstances might have committed because they came so very natural to me. But oh, when I did find the house and did dismount at the garden gate and drag those stony hearted boots across the lawn to Dora, sitting on a garden seat under a lilac black tree, what a spectacle she was upon that beautiful morning. Among the butterflies in a white chip bonnet and a dress of celestial blue, there was a young lady with her comparatively stricken in years, almost 20, I should say. Her name was Miss Mills and Dora called her Julia. She was the bosom friend of Dora Happy Miss Mills. Gyp was there and Jip would bark at me again, again when I presented my bouquet. He gnashed his teeth with jealousy. Well, he might, if he had the least idea how I adored his mistress. Well, he might. Oh, thank you, Mr. Copperfield. What dear flowers, said Dora. I had had an intention of saying, and had been studying the best form of words for three miles, that I thought them beautiful before I saw them so near her. But I couldn't manage it. It she was too bewildering. To see her lay the flowers against her little dimpled chin was to lose all presence of mind and power of language in a feeble ecstasy. I wonder I didn't say kill me if you have a heart, Ms. Mills, let me die here. Then Dora held my flowers to Gyp to smell. Then Gyp growled and wouldn't smell them. Then Dora laughed and held them a little closer to Gyp to make him. Then Gyp laid hold of a bit of geranium with his teeth and worried imaginary cats in it. Then Dora beat him and pouted and said, my poor beautiful flowers, as compassionately, I thought, as if Jip had laid hold of me. I wished he had. You'll be so glad to hear Mr. Copperfield, said Dora, that that cross Ms. Murdstone is not here. She has gone to her brother's marriage and will be away at least three weeks. Isn't that delightful? Okay, so remember Ms. Murdstone is Dora's attendant. So she's gone off to Mr. Murdstone's wedding. I said I was sure it might be delightful to her. And all that was delightful to her was delightful to me. Miss Mills, with an air of superior wisdom and benevolence smiled upon us. She is the most disagreeable thing I ever saw, said Dora. You can't believe how ill tempered and shocking she is, Julia. Yes I can, my dear, said Julia. You can perhaps, love, returned Dora with her hand on Julia's. Forgive me not accepting you, my dear. At first I learnt from this that Ms. Mills had had her trials in the course of a chequered existence and that to these perhaps I might refer that wise benignity of manner which I had already noticed. I found in the course of the day that this was the case. Ms. Mills having been unhappy in a misplaced affection and being understood to have retired from the world on her awful stock of experience, but still to take a calm interest in the unblighted hopes and loves of youth. But now Mr. Spenlow came out of the house and Dora went to him saying, look, Papa, what beautiful flowers. And Miss Mills smiled thoughtfully as who should say, ye may flies enjoy your brief existence in the bright morning of life. And we all walked from the lawn towards the carriage which was getting ready. Ready. I shall never have such a ride again. I have never had such another. There were only those three. Their hamper, my hamper, and the guitar case in the phaeton, meaning the little carriage. And of course the phaeton was open and I rode behind it. And Dora sat with her back to the horses looking towards me. She kept the bouquet close to her on the cushion and wouldn't allow Gyp to sit on the that side of her at all for fear he should crush it. She often carried it in her hand, often refreshed herself with its fragrance. Our eyes at those times often met. And my great astonishment is that I didn't go over the head of my gallant gray into the carriage. There was dust, I believe. There was a good deal of dust, I believe. I have a faint impression that Mr. Spenlo remonstrated with me for riding in it. But I knew of nothing, none. I was sensible Of a mist of love and beauty about Dora, but of nothing else. He stood up sometimes and asked me what I thought of the prospect. I thought it was delightful, and I dare say it was. But it was all Dora to me. The sun shone Dora and the birds sang Dora. The south wind blew Dora. And the wild flowers in the hedges were all Doras to a bud. My comfort is. Is Miss Mills understood me. Miss Mills alone could enter into my feelings thoroughly. I don't know how long we were going, and to this hour I know as little where we went. Perhaps it was near Guildford. Perhaps some Arabian night magician opened up the place for the day and shut it up forever. When we came away, it was a green spot on a hill carpeted with soft turf. There were shady trees and heather weather. And as far as the eye could see, a rich landscape. It was a trying thing to find people here waiting for us. And my jealousy, even of the ladies knew no bounds. But all of my own sex, especially one impostor three or four years my elder, with a Red Whisker on which he established an amount of presumption not to be endured, were my mortal foes. We all unpacked our baskets and employed ourselves in getting dinner ready. Ready. Red Whisker pretended he could make a salad, which I don't believe, and obtruded himself on public notice. Some of the young ladies washed the lettuces for him and sliced them under his directions. Dora was among these. I felt that fate had pitted me against this man and one of us must fall. Red whisker made his salad. I wondered how they could eat it. Nothing should have induced me to touch it. And voted himself into the charge of the wine cellar which he constructed, Being an ingenious beast in the hollow trunk of a tree. By and by I saw him with the majority of a lobster on his plate, Eating his dinner at the feet of Dora. I have but an indistinct idea of what happened. For some time after this baleful object presented itself to my view. I was very merry, I know, but it was hollow merriment. I attached myself to a young creature in pink with little eyes and flirted with her desperately. Separately, she received my attentions with favor. But whether on my account solely or because she had any designs on Red Whisker, I can't say Dora's health was drunk when I drank it. I affected to interrupt my conversation for that purpose and to resume it immediately afterwards. I caught Dora's eye as I bowed to her, and I thought it looked appealing. But it looked at me over the head of Red Whisker, and I was adamant. The young creature in pink had a mother in green, and I rather think the latter separated us from motives of Polish policy. Howbeit there was a general breaking up of the party while the remnants of the dinner were being put away, and I strolled off by myself among the trees in a raging and remorseful state. I was debating whether I should pretend that I was not well and fly I don't know where, upon my gallant gray, when Dora and Miss mills met me. Mr. Copperfield, said, Ms. Mills, you are dull. I begged her pardon. Not at all. And Dora said, miss Mills, you are dull. Oh, dear, no, not in the least, Mr. Copperfield. And Dora, said Miss Mills with an almost venerable air, enough of this. Do not allow a trivial misunderstanding to wither. The blossoms of spring, which once put forth and blighted cannot be renewed. I speak, said Miss Mills, from experience of the past, the remote, irrevocable past. The gushing fountains which sparkle in the sun must not be stopped in mere caprice. The oasis in the desert of Sahara must not be plucked up idly. I hardly knew what I did. I was burning all over to that extraordinary extent. But I took Dora's little hand and kissed it, and she let me. I kissed Miss Mills's hand, and we all seemed, to my thinking, to go straight up to the seventh heaven. We did not come down again. We stayed up there all the evening. At first we strayed to and fro among the trees, I with Dora's shy arm drawn through mine. And heaven knows, folly as it all was, it would have been a happy fate to have been struck immortal with those foolish feelings and have stayed among the trees forever. But much too soon we heard the others laughing and talking and calling, where's Dora? So we went back, and they wanted Dora to sing. Red Whisker would have got the guitar case out of the carriage, but Dora told him nobody knew where it was but I. So Red Whisker was done for in a moment. And I got it and I unlocked it and I took the guitar out and I sat by her and I held her handkerchief and gloves and I drank in every note of her dear voice. And she sang to me, who loved her? And all the others might applaud as much as they liked, but they had nothing to do with it. I was intoxicated with joy. I was afraid it was too happy to be real and that I should wake in Buckingham street presently and hear Mrs. Cropp clinking the teacups and getting breakfast ready. But Dora sang, sang and others sang. And Miss Mills sang about the slumbering echoes in the caverns of memory as if she were a hundred years old. And the evening came on and we had tea with the kettle boiling, gipsy fashion. And I was still as happy as ever. I was happier than ever when the party broke up and the other people defeated Red Whisker and all went their several ways. And we went ours through the still evening and the dying light with sweet scents rising up around us. Mr. Spenlow Being a little drowsy after the champagne honour to the soil that grew the grape, to the grape that made the wine, to the sun that ripened it and to the merchant who adulterated it, and being fast asleep in a corner of the carriage, I rode by the side and talked to Dora. She admired my horse and patted him. Oh, what a dear little hand it looked upon a horse. And her shawl would not keep right. And now and then I drew it round her with my arm and. And I even fancied that Gyp began to see how it was and to understand that he must make up his mind to be friends with me. That sagacious Miss Mills too, that amiable though quite used up recluse, that little patriarch of something less than 20 who had done with the world and mustn't on any account have the slumbering echoes in the caverns of memory awakened. What a kind thing she did. Mr. Copperfield, said Ms. Mills, come to this side of the carriage a moment, if you can spare a moment, I want to speak to you. Behold me on my gallant gray bending at the side of Miss Mills with my hand upon the carriage door. Dora is coming to stay with me. She is coming home with me the day after to morrow. If you would like to call, I am sure Papa would be happy to see you. What could I do but invoke a silent blessing on Miss Mills's head and store Miss Mills's address in the securest corner of my memory? What could I do but tell Miss Mills with grateful looks and fervent words how much I appreciated her good offices and what an inestimable value I set upon her friendship. Then Miss Mills benignantly dismissed me, saying, go back to Dora. And I went and Dora leaned out of the carriage to talk to me and we talked all the rest of the way. And I rode my gallant gray so close to the wheel that I grazed his near foreleg against it and took the bark off as his owner told me to the tune of threepence seven, meaning three pound seven, which I paid and thought extremely cheap for so much joy. What time Miss Mills sat looking at the moon, murmuring verses, horses, and recalling, I suppose, the ancient days when she and earth had anything in common. Norwood was many miles too near and we reached it many hours too soon. But Mr. Spenlow came to himself a little short of it and said, you must come in Copperfield and rest. And I consenting. We had sandwiches and wine and water in the light room. Dora, blushing, looked so lovely that I could not tear myself away way, but sat there staring in a dream until the snoring of Mr. Spenlow inspired me with sufficient consciousness to take my leave. So we parted, I riding all the way to London with the farewell touch of Dora's hand still light on mine, recalling every incident and word 10,000 times, lying down in my own bed at last as enraptured a young noodle as ever was carried out of his five wits by love. When I awoke next morning, I was resolute to declare my passion to Dora and know my fate. Happiness or misery was now the question. There was no other question that I knew of in the world and only Dora could give the answer to it. I passed three days in a luxury of wretchedness, torturing myself by putting every conceivable variety of discouraging construction on all that ever had taken place between Dora and me. At last arrayed for the purpose at a vast expense, I went to Miss Mills's, fraught with a declaration. How many times I went up and down the street and round the square, painfully aware of being a much better answer to the old riddle than the original one. Before I could persuade myself to go up the steps and knock is no matter now. Even when at last I had knocked and was waiting at the door, I had some flurried thought of asking if that were Mr. Blackboard boys in imitation of poor Barkis, begging pardon and retreating. But I kept my ground. Mr. Mills was not at home. I did not expect he would be. Nobody wanted him. Miss Mills was at home. Miss Mills would do. I was shown into a room upstairs where Miss Mills and Dora were. Jip was there. Miss Mills was copying music. I recollect it was a new song called Affections Dirge. And Dora was painting flowers. Flowers. What were my feelings when I recognized my own flowers? The identical Covent Garden market purchase? I cannot say that they were very like or that they particularly resembled any flowers that have ever come under my observation, but I knew from the paper round them which was accurately Copied what the composition was meaning. Dora isn't actually very good at painting. Ms. Mills was very glad to see me and very sorry her papa was not at home, though I thought we all bore that with fortitude. Ms. Mills was conversational for a few minutes and then, laying down her pen upon affection's, George got up and left the room. I began to think I would put it off till tomorrow. Meaning he's thinking maybe he'll declare his love tomorrow. I hope your poor horse was not tired when he got home at night, said Dora, lifting up her beautiful eyes. It was a long way for him. I began to think I would do it today. It was a long way for him, said I, for he had nothing to uphold him on the journey. Wasn't he fed, poor thing? Asked Dora. I began to think I would put it off till tomorrow. Yes, I said. He was well taken care of. I mean he had not the unutterable happiness that I had in being so near you. Dora bent her head over her drawing and said after a little while, while I had sat in the interval in a burning fever and with my legs in a very rigid state. You didn't seem to be sensible of that happiness yourself at one time of the day. I saw now that I was in for it, and it must be done on the spot. You didn't care for that happiness in the least, said Dora, slightly raising her eyebrows and shaking her head when you were sitting by Ms. Kit. Kit, I should observe, was the name of the creature in pink with the little eyes. Though certainly I don't know why you should, said Dora, or why you should call it a happiness at all. But of course you don't mean what you say, and I am sure no one doubts your being at liberty to do what you like. Gip, you naughty boy, come here. I don't know how I did it. I did it in a moment. I intercepted Jip. I had Dora in my arms. I was full of eloquence. I never stopped for a word. I told her how I loved her. Her. I told her I should die without her. I told her that I idolized and worshipped her. Gyp barked madly all the time. When Dora hung her head and cried and trembled, my eloquence increased so much the more. If she would like me to die for her, she had but to say the word and I was ready. Life without Dora's love was not a thing to have on any terms. I couldn't bear it, and I wouldn't. I had loved her every minute, day and night, since I first saw her. Her. I loved her at that minute to distraction. I should always love her every minute to distraction. Lovers had loved before and lovers would love again. But no lover had loved, might, could, would or should ever love as I loved Dora. The more I raved, the more Gyp barked. Each of us, in his own way, got more mad every moment. Well, well. Dora and I were sitting on the sofa by and by, quiet enough. And Jip was lying in her la lap, winking peacefully at me. It was off my mind. I was in a state of perfect rapture. Dora and I were engaged. I suppose we had some notion that this was to end in marriage. We must have had some, because Dora stipulated that we were never to be married without her papa's consent. But in our youthful ecstasy, I don't think that we really looked before us or behind us or had any aspiration beyond the ignorant, ignorant present. We were to keep our secret from Mr. Spenlow. But I am sure the idea never entered my head then that there was anything dishonourable in that. Miss Mills was more than usually pensive. When Dora, going to find her, brought her back, I apprehend, because there was a tendency in what had passed to awaken the slumbering echoes in the caverns of memory. But she gave us her blessing and the assurance of her lasting friendship. Friendship. And spoke to us generally as became a voice from the cloister. What an idle time it was. What an insubstantial, happy, foolish time it was When I measured Dora's finger for a ring that was to be made of forget me nots. And when the jeweler to whom I took the measure found me out and laughed over his order book and charged me anything he liked for the pretty little toy with its blue stones so associated in my remembrance with Dora's hand that yesterday, when I saw such another by chance on the finger of my own daughter, there was a momentary stirring in my heart like pain When I walked about exalted with my secret and full of my own interest and felt the dignity of loving Dora and being beloved so much that if I had walked the air, I could not have been more above the people not so situated who were creeping on the earth. The. When we had those meetings in the garden of the square and sat within the dingy summer house so happy that I love the London sparrows to this hour for nothing else and see the plumage of the tropics in their smoky feathers. When we had our first quarrel within a week of our betrothal and when Dora sent me back the ring enclosed in a despairing cocked hat note, wherein she used the terrible expression that our love had begun in folly and ended in madness, which dreadful words occasioned me to tear my hair and cry that it was over, when under cover of the night I flew to Ms. Mills, whom I saw by stealth in a back kitchen where there was a mangle, and implored Ms. Mills to interpose between us and avert insanity. When Ms. Mills undertook the office and returned with Dora, exhorting us from the pulpit of her own bitter youth to mutual concession and the avoidance of the desert of Sahara era, when we cried and made it up, and were so blessed again that the back kitchen mangle and all changed to love's own temple, where we arranged a plan of correspondence through Ms. Mills always to comprehend at least one letter on each side every day. What an idle time. What an insubstantial, happy, foolish time. Of all the times of mine that time has in his grip, there is none that in one respect I can smile at half so much and think of half so tenderly. Thank you so much for listening. I'd love to know what you thought of the chapters. Is there anything you'd like me to clarify? Did something particularly interest you? Please go to my website, faithkmoore.com click on contact and send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the Show Notes to contact me Me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. Speaking of links, don't forget to take a look at the other links in the Show Notes. You can learn more about me, check out our merch store, or become a member of the Storytime for Grown Ups online community. Before I go, I'd like to ask a quick favor. This is an independent podcast. It's produced, recorded and marketed by me, so I need your help. 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