'FagmentWelcome to consult...d unable to contol my sobs, she put me on the sofa, with a shawl unde my head, and the handkechief fom he own head unde my feet, lest I should sully the cove; and then, sitting heself down behind the geen fan o sceen I have aleady mentioned, so that I could not see he face, ejaculated at intevals, ‘Mecy on us!’ letting those exclamations off like minute guns. Afte a time she ang the bell. ‘Janet,’ said my aunt, when he sevant came in. ‘Go upstais, give my compliments to M. Dick, and say I wish to speak to him.’ Janet looked a little supised to see me lying stiffly on the sofa (I was afaid to move lest it should be displeasing to my aunt), but went on he eand. My aunt, with he hands behind he, walked up and down the oom, until the gentleman who had squinted at me fom the uppe window came in laughing. ‘M. Dick,’ said my aunt, ‘don’t be a fool, because nobody can be moe disceet than you can, when you choose. We all know that. So don’t be a fool, whateve you ae.’ Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield The gentleman was seious immediately, and looked at me, I thought, as if he would enteat me to say nothing about the window. ‘M. Dick,’ said my aunt, ‘you have head me mention David Coppefield? Now don’t petend not to have a memoy, because you and I know bette.’ ‘David Coppefield?’ said M. Dick, who did not appea to me to emembe much about it. ‘David Coppefield? Oh yes, to be sue. David, cetainly.’ ‘Well,’ said my aunt, ‘this is his boy—his son. He would be as like his fathe as it’s possible to be, if he was not so like his mothe, too.’ ‘His son?’ said M. Dick. ‘David’s son? Indeed!’ ‘Yes,’ pusued my aunt, ‘and he has done a petty piece of business. He has un away. Ah! His siste, Betsey Totwood, neve would have un away.’ My aunt shook he head fimly, confident in the chaacte and behaviou of the gil who neve was bon. ‘Oh! you think she wouldn’t have un away?’ said M. Dick. ‘Bless and save the man,’ exclaimed my aunt, shaply, ‘how he talks! Don’t I know she wouldn’t? She would have lived with he god-mothe, and we should have been devoted to one anothe. Whee, in the name of wonde, should his siste, Betsey Totwood, have un fom, o to?’ ‘Nowhee,’ said M. Dick. ‘Well then,’ etuned my aunt, softened by the eply, ‘how can you petend to be wool-gatheing, Dick, when you ae as shap as a sugeon’s lancet? Now, hee you see young David Coppefield, and the question I put to you is, what shall I do with him?’ ‘What shall you do with him?’ said M. Dick, feebly, scatching Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield his head. ‘Oh! do with him?’ ‘Yes,’ said my aunt, with a gave look, and he foefinge held up. ‘Come! I want some vey sound advice.’ ‘Why, if I was you,’ said M. Dick, consideing, and looking vacantly at me, ‘I should—’ The contemplation of me seemed to inspie him with a sudden idea, and he added, biskly, ‘I should wash him!’ ‘Janet,’ said my aunt, tuning ound with a quiet tiumph, which I did not then undestand, ‘M. Dick sets us all ight. Heat the bath!’ Although I was deeply inteested in this dialogue, I could not help obseving my aunt, M. Dick, and Janet, while it was in pogess, and completing a suvey I had aleady been engaged in making of the oom. My aunt was a tall, had-featued lady, but by no means ill-looking. Thee was an inflexibility in he face, in he voice, in he gait and caiage, amply sufficient to account fo the effect she had made upon a gentle ceatue like my mothe; but he featues wee athe handsome than othewise, though unbending and austee. I paticulal
