“Oh, Master Copperfield!” he said. “If you had only had the condescension to return my confidence when I poured out the fullness of my art, the night I put you so much out of the way by sleeping before your sitting room fire, I never should have doubted you. As it is, I’m sure I’ll take off mother directly, and only too ’appy. I know you’ll excuse the precautions of affection, won’t you? What a pity, Master Copperfield, that you didn’t condescend to return my confidence! I’m sure I gave you every opportunity. But you never have condescended to me, as much as I could have wished. I know you have never liked me, as I have liked you!”

All this time he was squeezing my hand with his damp fishy fingers, while I made every effort I decently could to get it away. But I was quite unsuccessful. He drew it under the sleeve of his mulberry-coloured greatcoat, and I walked on, almost upon compulsion, arm-in-arm with him.

“Shall we turn?” said Uriah, by and by wheeling me face about towards the town, on which the early moon was now shining, silvering the distant windows.