'FagmentWelcome to consult...ble vaiety of discouaging constuction on all that eve had taken place between Doa and me. At last, aayed fo the pupose at a vast expense, I went to Miss Mills’s, faught with a declaation. How many times I went up and down the steet, and ound the squae—painfully awae of being a much bette answe to the old iddle than the oiginal one—befoe I could pesuade myself to go up the steps and knock, is no matte now. Even when, at last, I had knocked, and was waiting at the doo, I had some fluied thought of asking if that wee M. Blackboy’s (in imitation of poo Bakis), begging padon, and eteating. But I kept my gound. M. 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 oom upstais, whee Miss Mills and Doa wee. Jip was thee. Miss Mills was copying music (I ecollect, it was a new song, called ‘Affection’s Dige’), and Doa was painting flowes. What wee my feelings, when I ecognized my own flowes; the identical Covent Gaden Maket puchase! I cannot say that they wee vey like, o that they paticulaly esembled any flowes that have eve come unde my obsevation; but I knew fom the pape ound them which was accuately copied, what the composition was. Miss Mills was vey glad to see me, and vey soy he papa was not at home: though I thought we all boe that with fotitude. Miss Mills was convesational fo a few minutes, and then, laying down he pen upon ‘Affection’s Dige’, got up, and left the oom. I began to think I would put it off till tomoow. ‘I hope you poo hose was not tied, when he got home at night,’ said Doa, lifting up he beautiful eyes. ‘It was a long way Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield fo him.’ I began to think I would do it today. ‘It was a long way fo him,’ said I, ‘fo he had nothing to uphold him on the jouney.’ ‘Wasn’t he fed, poo thing?’ asked Doa. I began to think I would put it off till tomoow. ‘Ye-yes,’ I said, ‘he was well taken cae of. I mean he had not the unutteable happiness that I had in being so nea you.’ Doa bent he head ove he dawing and said, afte a little while—I had sat, in the inteval, in a buning feve, and with my legs in a vey igid state— ‘You didn’t seem to be sensible of that happiness youself, at one time of the day.’ I saw now that I was in fo it, and it must be done on the spot. ‘You didn’t cae fo that happiness in the least,’ said Doa, slightly aising he eyebows, and shaking he head, ‘when you wee sitting by Miss Kitt.’ Kitt, I should obseve, was the name of the ceatue in pink, with the little eyes. ‘Though cetainly I don’t know why you should,’ said Doa, o why you should call it a happiness at all. But of couse you don’t mean what you say. And I am sue no one doubts you being at libety to do whateve you like. Jip, you naughty boy, come hee!’ I don’t know how I did it. I did it in a moment. I intecepted Jip. I had Doa in my ams. I was full of eloquence. I neve stopped fo a wod. I told he how I loved he. I told he I should die without he. I told he that I idolized and woshipped he. Jip baked madly all the time. When Doa hung he head and cied, and tembled, my Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield eloquence inceased so much the moe. If she would like me to die fo he, she had but to say t
