“How are you, Copperfield?” said he. “Fine morning!”
“Beautiful morning, sir,” said I. “Could I say a word to you before you go into court?”
“By all means,” said he. “Come into my room.”
I followed him into his room, and he began putting on his gown, and touching himself up before a little glass he had, hanging inside a closet door.
“I am sorry to say,” said I, “that I have some rather disheartening intelligence from my aunt.”
“No!” said he. “Dear me! Not paralysis, I hope?”
“It has no reference to her health, sir,” I replied. “She has met with some large losses. In fact, she has very little left, indeed.”
“You as-tound me, Copperfield!” cried Mr. Spenlow.
I shook my head. “Indeed, sir,” said I, “her affairs are so changed, that I wished to ask you whether it would be possible—at a sacrifice on our part of some portion of the premium, of course,” I put in this, on the