“Precisely so,” assented Mrs. Micawber. “Now, I may be wrong in my conclusions; it is very likely that I am; but my individual impression is, that the gulf between my family and Mr. Micawber may be traced to an apprehension, on the part of my family, that Mr. Micawber would require pecuniary accommodation. I cannot help thinking,” said Mrs. Micawber, with an air of deep sagacity, “that there are members of my family who have been apprehensive that Mr. Micawber would solicit them for their names,—I do not mean to be conferred in Baptism upon our children, but to be inscribed on Bills of Exchange, and negotiated in the Money Market.”

The look of penetration with which Mrs. Micawber announced this discovery, as if no one had ever thought of it before, seemed rather to astonish my aunt; who abruptly replied, “Well, Ma’am, upon the whole, I shouldn’t wonder if you were right!”

“Mr. Micawber being now on the eve of casting off the pecuniary shackles that have so long enthralled him,” said Mrs. Micawber, “and of commencing a new career in a country where there is sufficient range for his abilities,—which, in my opinion, is exceedingly important; Mr. Micawber’s abilities peculiarly requiring space,—it seems to me that my family should signalise the occasion by coming forward. What I could wish to see, would be a meeting between Mr. Micawber and my family at a festive entertainment, to be given at my family’s expense; where Mr. Micawber’s health and prosperity being proposed, by some leading member of my family, Mr. Micawber might have an opportunity of developing his views.”

“My dear,” said Mr. Micawber, with some heat, “it may be better for me to state distinctly, at once, that if I were to develop my views to that assembled group, they would possibly be found of an offensive nature; my impression being that your family are, in the aggregate, impertinent Snobs; and, in detail, unmitigated Ruffians.”

“Micawber,” said Mrs. Micawber, shaking her head, “no! You have never understood them, and they have never understood you.”

Mr. Micawber coughed.

“They have never understood you, Micawber,” said his wife. “They may be incapable of it. If so, that is their misfortune. I can pity their misfortune.”

“I am extremely sorry, my dear Emma,” said Mr. Micawber, relenting, “to have been betrayed into any expressions that might, even remotely, have the appearance of being strong expressions. All I would say is, that I can go abroad without your family coming forward to favour me,—in short, with a parting Shove of their cold shoulders; and that, upon the whole, I would rather leave England with such impetus as I possess, than derive any acceleration of it from that quarter. At the same time, my dear, if they should condescend to reply to your communications—which our joint experience renders most improbable—far be it from me to be a barrier to your wishes.”

The matter being thus amicably settled, Mr. Micawber gave Mrs. Micawber his arm, and glancing at the heap of books and papers lying before Traddles on the table, said they would leave us to ourselves; which they ceremoniously did.

“My dear Copperfield,” said Traddles, leaning back in his chair when they were gone, and looking at me with an affection that made his eyes red, and his hair all kinds of shapes, “I don’t make any excuse for troubling you with business, because I know you are deeply interested in it, and it may divert your thoughts. My dear boy, I hope you are not worn out?”

“I am quite myself,” said I, after a pause. “We have more cause to think of my aunt than of any one. You know how much she has done.”

“Surely, surely,” answered Traddles. “Who can forget it!”


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