That sagacious Miss Mills, too; that amiable, though quite used up, recluse; that little patriarch of something less than twenty, who had done with the world, and mustn’t on any account have the slumbering echoes in the caverns of Memory awakened; what a kind thing she did!
“ Mr. Copperfield,” said Miss Mills, “come to this side of the carriage a moment—if you can spare a moment. I want to speak to you.”
Behold me, on my gallant grey, bending at the side of Miss Mills, with my hand upon the carriage door!
“Dora is coming to stay with me. She is coming home with me the day after tomorrow. If you would like to call, I am sure papa would be happy to see you.” What could I do but invoke a silent blessing on Miss Mills’s head, and store Miss Mills’s address in the securest corner of my memory! What could I do but tell Miss Mills, with grateful looks and fervent words, how much I appreciated her good offices, and what an inestimable value I set upon her friendship!
Then Miss Mills benignantly dismissed me, saying, “Go back to Dora!” and I went; and Dora leaned out of the carriage to talk to me, and we talked