Дэвид Копперфильд

Another Retrospect

           

           Igotothedoor,wonderingwhoitis;there,Imeetapairofbrighteyes,andablushingface;theyareDora’seyesandface,andMissLaviniahasdressedherintomorrow’sdress,bonnetandall,formetosee.Itakemylittlewifetomyheart;andMissLaviniagivesalittlescreambecauseItumblethebonnet,andDoralaughsandcriesatonce,becauseIamsopleased;andIbelieveitlessthanever.

           ‘Doyouthinkitpretty,Doady?’saysDora.

           Pretty!IshouldratherthinkIdid.

           ‘Andareyousureyoulikemeverymuch?’saysDora.

           Thetopicisfraughtwithsuchdangertothebonnet,thatMissLaviniagivesanotherlittlescream,andbegsmetounderstandthatDoraisonlytobelookedat,andonnoaccounttobetouched.SoDorastandsinadelightfulstateofconfusionforaminuteortwo,tobeadmired;andthentakesoffherbonnetlookingsonaturalwithoutit!andrunsawaywithitinherhand;andcomesdancingdownagaininherownfamiliardress,andasksJipifIhavegotabeautifullittlewife,andwhetherhe’llforgiveherforbeingmarried,andkneelsdowntomakehimstanduponthecookery-book,forthelasttimeinhersinglelife.

           Igohome,moreincredulousthanever,toalodgingthatIhavehardby;andgetupveryearlyinthemorning,toridetotheHighgateroadandfetchmyaunt.

           Ihaveneverseenmyauntinsuchstate.

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