“What a thoroughly good and charming wife she is, my dear Traddles!” said I, when she had gone away, laughing.

“My dear Copperfield” returned Traddles, “she is, without any exception, the dearest girl! The way she manages this place; her punctuality, domestic knowledge, economy, and order; her cheerfulness, Copperfield!”

“Indeed, you have reason to commend her!” I returned. “You are a happy fellow. I believe you make yourselves, and each other, two of the happiest people in the world.”

“I am sure we are two of the happiest people,” returned Traddles. “I admit that, at all events. Bless my soul, when I see her getting up by candle-light on these dark mornings, busying herself in the day’s arrangements, going out to market before the clerks come in to the Inn, caring for no weather, devising the most capital little dinners out of the plainest materials, making puddings and pies, keeping everything in its right place, always so neat and ornamental herself, sitting up at night with me if it’s ever so late, sweet-tempered and encouraging always, and all for me, I positively sometimes can’t believe it, Copperfield!”

He was tender of the very slippers she had been warming, as he put them on, and stretched his feet enjoyingly upon the fender.

“I positively sometimes can’t believe it,” said Traddles. “Then, our pleasures! Dear me, they are inexpensive, but they are quite wonderful! When we are at home here, of an evening, and shut the outer door, and draw those curtains—which she made—where could we be more snug? When it’s fine, and we go out for a walk in the evening, the streets abound in enjoyment for us. We look into the glittering windows of the jewellers’ shops; and I show Sophy which of the diamond-eyed serpents, coiled up on white satin rising grounds, I would give her if I could afford it; and Sophy shows me which of the gold watches that are capped and jewelled and engine-turned, and possessed of the horizontal lever-escape-movement, and all sorts of things, she would buy for me if she could afford it; and we pick out the spoons and forks, fish-slices, butter-knives, and sugar-tongs we should both prefer if we could both afford it; and really we go away as if we had got them! Then, when we stroll into the squares, and great streets, and see a house to let, sometimes we look up at it, and say, how would that do, if I was made a judge? And we parcel it out—such a room for us, such rooms for the girls, and so forth; until we settle to our satisfaction that it would do, or it wouldn’t do, as the case may be. Sometimes we go at half-price to the pit of the theatre—the very smell of which is cheap, in my opinion, at the money—and there we thoroughly enjoy the play: which Sophy believes every word of, and so do I. In walking home, perhaps we buy a little bit of something at a cook’s-shop, or a little lobster at the fishmonger’s, and bring it here, and make a splendid supper, chatting about what we have seen. Now, you know, Copperfield, if I was Lord Chancellor, we couldn’t do this!”

“You would do something, whatever you were, my dear Traddles,” thought I, “that would be pleasant and amiable! And by the way,’ I said aloud, “I suppose you never draw any skeletons now?”

“Really,” replied Traddles, laughing, and reddening, “I can’t wholly deny that I do, my dear Copperfield. For, being in one of the back rows of the King’s Bench the other day, with a pen in my hand, the fancy came into my head to try how I had preserved that accomplishment. And I am afraid there’s a skeleton—in a wig—on the ledge of the desk.”

After we had both laughed heartily, Traddles wound up by looking with a smile at the fire, and saying, in his forgiving way, “Old Creakle!”

“I have a letter from that old—Rascal here,” said I. For I never was less disposed to forgive him the way he used to batter Traddles, than when I saw Traddles so ready to forgive him himself.

“From Creakle the schoolmaster?” exclaimed Traddles. “No!”