I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old.

“And when, Agnes,” said I, “will you forgive me the other night?”

“When I recall it,” said Agnes.

She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself.

“You must not forget,” said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, “that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?”

“No one, Agnes.”

“Some one, Trotwood,” said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger.

“No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth’s house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to—Miss Dartle—but I don’t adore her.”

Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah.

“Uriah Heep?” said I. “No. Is he in London?”

“He comes to the office down-stairs, every day,” returned Agnes. “He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood.”

“On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see,” said I. “What can that be?”

Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers—

“I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa.”

“What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion!” I cried, indignantly. “Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connection it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there’s time.”

Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth; and then replied—

“You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that—not more than two or three days—when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry.”

“Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?”