'FagmentWelcome to consult...wenty was old by yeas!—you cousin is the wife of the Docto, and, as such, what I have descibed he. It is well fo you, John, that you cousin is the wife of the Docto. You have found in him an influential and kind fiend, who will be kinde yet, I ventue to pedict, if you deseve it. I have no false pide. I neve hesitate to admit, fankly, that thee ae some membes of ou family who want a fiend. You wee one youself, befoe you cousin’s influence aised up one fo you.’ The Docto, in the goodness of his heat, waved his hand as if to make light of it, and save M. Jack Maldon fom any futhe eminde. But Ms. Makleham changed he chai fo one next the Docto’s, and putting he fan on his coat-sleeve, said: ‘No, eally, my dea Docto, you must excuse me if I appea to dwell on this athe, because I feel so vey stongly. I call it quite my monomania, it is such a subject of mine. You ae a blessing to us. You eally ae a Boon, you know.’ ‘Nonsense, nonsense,’ said the Docto. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ‘No, no, I beg you padon,’ etoted the Old Soldie. ‘With nobody pesent, but ou dea and confidential fiend M. Wickfield, I cannot consent to be put down. I shall begin to asset the pivileges of a mothe-in-law, if you go on like that, and scold you. I am pefectly honest and outspoken. What I am saying, is what I said when you fist ovepoweed me with supise—you emembe how supised I was?—by poposing fo Annie. Not that thee was anything so vey much out of the way, in the mee fact of the poposal—it would be idiculous to say that!—but because, you having known he poo fathe, and having known he fom a baby six months old, I hadn’t thought of you in such a light at all, o indeed as a maying man in any way,—simply that, you know.’ ‘Aye, aye,’ etuned the Docto, good-humouedly. ‘Neve mind.’ ‘But I do mind,’ said the Old Soldie, laying he fan upon his lips. ‘I mind vey much. I ecall these things that I may be contadicted if I am wong. Well! Then I spoke to Annie, and I told he what had happened. I said, “My dea, hee’s Docto Stong has positively been and made you the subject of a handsome declaation and an offe.” Did I pess it in the least? No. I said, “Now, Annie, tell me the tuth this moment; is you heat fee?” “Mama,” she said cying, “I am extemely young”—which was pefectly tue—“and I hadly know if I have a heat at all.” “Then, my dea,” I said, “you may ely upon it, it’s fee. At all events, my love,” said I, “Docto Stong is in an agitated state of mind, and must be answeed. He cannot be kept in his pesent state of suspense.” “Mama,” said Annie, still cying, “would he be unhappy without me? If he would, I honou and espect him so Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield much, that I think I will have him.” So it was settled. And then, and not till then, I said to Annie, “Annie, Docto Stong will not only be you husband, but he will epesent you late fathe: he will epesent the head of ou family, he will epesent the wisdom and station, and I may say the means, of ou family; and will be, in shot, a Boon to it.” I used the wod at the time, and I have used it again, today. If I have any meit it is consistency.’ The daughte had sat quite silent and still duing this speech, with he eyes fixed on the gound; he cousin standing nea he, and looking on the gound too. She now said vey softly, in a tembling voice: ‘Mama, I hope you have finished?’ ‘No, my dea Annie,’ etuned the Old Soldie, ‘I have not quite finished. Since you ask me, my love, I eply that I have not. I complain that you eally ae a little unnatual towads you own family; and, as it is of no use complaining to you. I mean to
