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we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head

aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve

like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish,

helpless manner, ‘Pray, Agnes, don’t! Don’t, my dear sister!’

But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know

well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of

my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different

in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud

had passed from a serene sky.

‘We are not likely to remain alone much longer,’ said Agnes, ‘and while

I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be

friendly to Uriah. Don’t repel him. Don’t resent (as I think you have a

general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may

not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think

first of papa and me!’

Agnes had no time to say more, for the room door opened, and Mrs.

Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don’t

exactly know which, for I don’t know which was dress and which was

lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her

at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she

appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a

state of intoxication.

Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was

a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me

considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks,

and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these

questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her

good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to

dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave, making a

call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in

his absence.

When I went to dinner next day, and on the street door being opened,

plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was

not the only guest, for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in

disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the

stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when

he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before;

but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made

cowards of us both.

I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short

throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to

be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the

honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs.

Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in

a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as

looking like a near relation of Hamlet’s--say his aunt.

Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady’s name; and her husband was there

too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to

be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry

Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr.

Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what

or which, remotely connected with the Treasury.

I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep

humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud

to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my

condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for

he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and

whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and

cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind.

There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me,

like the wine. But there was one who attracted my attention before he

came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind

flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to

draw the skeletons!

I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober,

steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair,

and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner

so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had

a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old

unfortunate Tommy.

I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the

pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there.

‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. ‘You are too young to have

been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?’

‘Oh, I don’t mean him!’ I returned. ‘I mean the gentleman named

Traddles.’

‘Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!’ said my host, with much diminished interest.

‘Possibly.’

‘If it’s really the same person,’ said I, glancing towards him, ‘it

was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an

excellent fellow.’

‘Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow,’ returned my host nodding his head

with an air of toleration. ‘Traddles is quite a good fellow.’

‘It’s a curious coincidence,’ said I.

‘It is really,’ returned my host, ‘quite a coincidence, that Traddles

should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when

the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker’s

brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very

gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker’s brother, Mr. Copperfield.’

I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I

knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by

profession.

‘Traddles,’ returned Mr. Waterbrook, ‘is a young man reading for the

bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody’s enemy but his own.’

‘Is he his own enemy?’ said I, sorry to hear this.

‘Well,’ returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with

his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. ‘I should say

he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say

he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was

recommended to me by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind

of talent for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I

am able to throw something in Traddles’s way, in the course of the year;

something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes.’

I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner

in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word ‘Yes’,

every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely

conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver

spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the

heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of

the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the

people down in the trenches.

My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was

announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet’s aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker

took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself,

was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I,

as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was

not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been, since it gave me

an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who

greeted me with great fervour; while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive

satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched

him over the banisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being

billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady;

I, in the gloom of Hamlet’s aunt. The dinner was very long, and the

conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook

repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood.

It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we

had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our

scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who

had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with

the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with

the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the

matter, Hamlet’s aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy,

and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that

was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell

back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her

nephew himself.

We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a

sanguine complexion.

‘I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook’s opinion,’ said Mr. Waterbrook, with

his wine-glass at his eye. ‘Other things are all very well in their way,

but give me Blood!’

‘Oh! There is nothing,’ observed Hamlet’s aunt, ‘so satisfactory to one!

There is nothing that is so much one’s beau-ideal of--of all that sort

of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am

happy to believe, but there are some) that would prefer to do what I

should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before service,

intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so.

We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and

we say, “There it is! That’s Blood!” It is an actual matter of fact. We

point it out. It admits of no doubt.’

The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down,

stated the question more decisively yet, I thought.

‘Oh, you know, deuce take it,’ said this gentleman, looking round the

board with an imbecile smile, ‘we can’t forego Blood, you know. We must

have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little

behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and

may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people

into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it’s

delightful to reflect that they’ve got Blood in ‘em! Myself, I’d rather

at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I’d

be picked up by a man who hadn’t!’

This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell,

gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great

notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr.

Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant,

entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and

exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and

overthrow.

‘That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has

not taken the course that was expected, Spiker,’ said Mr. Gulpidge.

‘Do you mean the D. of A.’s?’ said Mr. Spiker.

‘The C. of B.’s!’ said Mr. Gulpidge.

Mr. Spiker raised his eyebrows, and looked much concerned.

‘When the question was referred to Lord--I needn’t name him,’ said Mr.

Gulpidge, checking himself--

‘I understand,’ said Mr. Spiker, ‘N.’

Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--‘was referred to him, his answer was,

“Money, or no release.”’

‘Lord bless my soul!’ cried Mr. Spiker.

“‘Money, or no release,”’ repeated Mr. Gulpidge, firmly. ‘The next in

reversion--you understand me?’

‘K.,’ said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look.

‘--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for

that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it.’

Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony.

‘So the matter rests at this hour,’ said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself

back in his chair. ‘Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to

explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests

involved.’

Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such

interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed

an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew

no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the

discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such

a confidence, naturally desired to favour his friend with a confidence

of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another,

in which it was Mr. Gulpidge’s turn to be surprised, and that by another

in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker’s turn again, and so on,

turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed

by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our

host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and

astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get upstairs to Agnes, and to

talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was

shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he

was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for

a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have

wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure

of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly

interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such

warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only

looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I

observed her.

As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much

at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few

days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again

so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone.

Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful

reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so

beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having

no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook’s

society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my

inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel;

and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had