When I had done tumbling over Traddles, and had sat upon something which was not a cat⁠—my first seat was⁠—I so far recovered my sight, as to perceive that Mr. Spenlow had evidently been the youngest of the family; that there was a disparity of six or eight years between the two sisters; and that the younger appeared to be the manager of the conference, inasmuch as she had my letter in her hand⁠—so familiar as it looked to me, and yet so odd!⁠—and was referring to it through an eyeglass. They were dressed alike, but this sister wore her dress with a more youthful air than the other; and perhaps had a trifle more frill, or tucker, or brooch, or bracelet, or some little thing of that kind, which made her look more lively. They were both upright in their carriage, formal, precise, composed, and quiet. The sister who had not my letter, had her arms crossed on her breast, and resting on each other, like an idol.

“ Mr. Copperfield, I believe,” said the sister who had got my letter, addressing herself to Traddles.