'FagmentWelcome to consult..., looking estlessly in at the doo again, ‘if M. Spenlow objects—’ ‘Pesonally, he does not object, si,’ said I. ‘Oh! Pesonally!’ epeated M. Jokins, in an impatient manne. ‘I assue you thee’s an objection, M. Coppefield. Hopeless! What you wish to be done, can’t be done. I—I eally have got an appointment at the Bank.’ With that he faily an away; and to the best of my knowledge, it was thee days befoe he showed himself in the Commons again. Being vey anxious to leave no stone untuned, I waited until M. Spenlow came in, and then descibed what had passed; giving him to undestand that I was not hopeless of his being able to soften the adamantine Jokins, if he would undetake the task. ‘Coppefield,’ etuned M. Spenlow, with a gacious smile, ‘you have not known my patne, M. Jokins, as long as I have. Nothing is fathe fom my thoughts than to attibute any degee of atifice to M. Jokins. But M. Jokins has a way of stating his Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield 695 objections which often deceives people. No, Coppefield!’ shaking his head. ‘M. Jokins is not to be moved, believe me!’ I was completely bewildeed between M. Spenlow and M. Jokins, as to which of them eally was the objecting patne; but I saw with sufficient cleaness that thee was obduacy somewhee in the fim, and that the ecovey of my aunt’s thousand pounds was out of the question. In a state of despondency, which I emembe with anything but satisfaction, fo I know it still had too much efeence to myself (though always in connexion with Doa), I left the office, and went homewad. I was tying to familiaize my mind with the wost, and to pesent to myself the aangements we should have to make fo the futue in thei stenest aspect, when a hackney-chaiot coming afte me, and stopping at my vey feet, occasioned me to look up. A fai hand was stetched foth to me fom the window; and the face I had neve seen without a feeling of seenity and happiness, fom the moment when it fist tuned back on the old oak staicase with the geat boad balustade, and when I associated its softened beauty with the stained-glass window in the chuch, was smiling on me. ‘Agnes!’ I joyfully exclaimed. ‘Oh, my dea Agnes, of all people in the wold, what a pleasue to see you!’ ‘Is it, indeed?’ she said, in he codial voice. ‘I want to talk to you so much!’ said I. ‘It’s such a lightening of my heat, only to look at you! If I had had a conjuo’s cap, thee is no one I should have wished fo but you!’ ‘What?’ etuned Agnes. ‘Well! pehaps Doa fist,’ I admitted, with a blush. ‘Cetainly, Doa fist, I hope,’ said Agnes, laughing. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ‘But you next!’ said I. ‘Whee ae you going?’ She was going to my ooms to see my aunt. The day being vey fine, she was glad to come out of the chaiot, which smelt (I had my head in it all this time) like a stable put unde a cucumbe-fame. I dismissed the coachman, and she took my am, and we walked on togethe. She was like Hope embodied, to me. How diffeent I felt in one shot minute, having Agnes at my side! My aunt had witten he one of the
