easily remembered.”
He laughed as he ran his hand through the clustering curls of his hair, and said gaily:
“Yes, I am on an expedition of duty. My mother lives a little way out of town; and the roads being in a beastly condition, and our house tedious enough, I remained here tonight instead of going on. I have not been in town half-a-dozen hours, and those I have been dozing and grumbling away at the play.”
“I have been at the play, too,” said I. “At Covent Garden. What a delightful and magnificent entertainment, Steerforth!”
Steerforth laughed heartily.
“My dear young Davy,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder again, “you are a very Daisy. The daisy of the field, at sunrise, is not fresher than you are. I have been at Covent Garden, too, and there never was a more miserable business. Holloa, you sir!”