ays had his eye, but which he did not expect to attain
immediately, as it would require a large establishment. There would
probably be an interval, he explained, in which he should content
himself with the upper part of a house, over some respectable place of
business--say in Piccadilly,--which would be a cheerful situation for
Mrs. Micawber; and where, by throwing out a bow-window, or carrying up
the roof another story, or making some little alteration of that sort,
they might live, comfortably and reputably, for a few years. Whatever
was reserved for him, he expressly said, or wherever his abode might be,
we might rely on this--there would always be a room for Traddles, and a
knife and fork for me. We acknowledged his kindness; and he begged us
to forgive his having launched into these practical and business-like
details, and to excuse it as natural in one who was making entirely new
arrangements in life.

Mrs. Micawber, tapping at the wall again to know if tea were ready,
broke up this particular phase of our friendly conversation. She made
tea for us in a most agreeable manner; and, whenever I went near her, in
handing about the tea-cups and bread-and-butter, asked me, in a whisper,
whether D. was fair, or dark, or whether she was short, or tall: or
something of that kind; which I think I liked. After tea, we discussed a
variety of topics before the fire; and Mrs. Micawber was good enough
to sing us (in a small, thin, flat voice, which I remembered to have
considered, when I first knew her, the very table-beer of acoustics) the
favourite ballads of 'The Dashing White Sergeant', and 'Little Tafflin'.
For both of these songs Mrs. Micawber had been famous when she lived at
home with her papa and mama. Mr. Micawber told us, that when he heard
her sing the first one, on the first occasion of his seeing her beneath
the parental roof, she had attracted his attention in an extraordinary
degree; but that when it came to Little Tafflin, he had resolved to win
that woman or perish in the attempt.

It was between ten and eleven o'clock when Mrs. Micawber rose to replace
her cap in the whitey-brown paper parcel, and to put on her bonnet. Mr.
Micawber took the opportunity of Traddles putting on his great-coat, to
slip a letter into my hand, with a whispered request that I would read
it at my leisure. I also took the opportunity of my holding a candle
over the banisters to light them down, when Mr. Micawber was going
first, leadi