me, with tottering steps, to the Misses Spenlow's door.

I had a vague sensation of being, as it were, on view, when the maid
opened it; and of wavering, somehow, across a hall with a weather-glass
in it, into a quiet little drawing-room on the ground-floor, commanding
a neat garden. Also of sitting down here, on a sofa, and seeing
Traddles's hair start up, now his hat was removed, like one of those
obtrusive little figures made of springs, that fly out of fictitious
snuff-boxes when the lid is taken off. Also of hearing an old-fashioned
clock ticking away on the chimney-piece, and trying to make it keep time
to the jerking of my heart,--which it wouldn't. Also of looking round
the room for any sign of Dora, and seeing none. Also of thinking that
Jip once barked in the distance, and was instantly choked by somebody.
Ultimately I found myself backing Traddles into the fireplace, and
bowing in great confusion to two dry little elderly ladies, dressed in
black, and each looking wonderfully like a preparation in chip or tan of
the late Mr. Spenlow.

'Pray,' said one of the two little ladies, 'be seated.'

When I had done tumbling over Traddles, and had sat upon something which
was not a cat--my first seat was--I so far recovered my sight, as to
perceive that Mr. Spenlow had evidently been the youngest of the
family; that there was a disparity of six or eight years between the
two sisters; and that the younger appeared to be the manager of the
conference, inasmuch as she had my letter in her hand--so familiar as
it looked to me, and yet so odd!--and was referring to it through an
eye-glass. They were dressed alike, but this sister wore her dress with
a more youthful air than the other; and perhaps had a trifle more frill,
or tucker, or brooch, or bracelet, or some little thing of that kind,
which made her look more lively. They were both upright in their
carriage, formal, precise, composed, and quiet. The sister who had
not my letter, had her arms crossed on her breast, and resting on each
other, like an Idol.

'Mr. Copperfield, I believe,' said the sister who had got my letter,
addressing herself to Traddles.

This was a frightful beginning. Traddles had to indicate that I was Mr.
Copperfield, and I had to lay claim to myself, and they had to divest
themselves of a preconceived opinion that Traddles was Mr. Copperfield,
and altogether we were in a nice condition. To improve it, we all
distinctly heard Jip give two shor