The coach was in the yard, shining very much all over, but without any horses to it as yet; and it looked in that state as if nothing was more unlikely than its ever going to London. I was thinking this, and wondering what would ultimately become of my box, which Mr. Barkis had put down on the yard-pavement by the pole (he having driven up the yard to turn his cart), and also what would ultimately become of me, when a lady looked out of a bow-window where some fowls and joints of meat were hanging up, and said:
“Is that the little gentleman from Blunderstone?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“What name?” inquired the lady.
“Copperfield, ma’am,” I said.
“That won’t do,” returned the lady. “Nobody’s dinner is paid for here, in that name.”
“Is it Murdstone, ma’am?” I said.
“If you’re Master Murdstone,” said the lady, “why do you go and give another name, first?”
I explained to the lady how it was, who then rang a bell, and called out, “William! show the coffee room!” upon which a waiter came running out of a kitchen on the opposite side of the yard to show it, and seemed a good deal surprised when he was only to show it to me.
It was a large long room with some large maps in it. I doubt if I could have felt much stranger if the maps had been real foreign countries, and I cast away in the middle of them. I felt it was taking a liberty to sit down, with my cap in my hand, on the corner of the chair nearest the door; and when the waiter laid a cloth on purpose for me, and put a set of castors on it, I think I must have turned red all over with modesty.