'FagmentWelcome to consult...ou to talk about fimness, but you wouldn’t like it youself.’ Fimness, I may obseve, was the gand quality on which both M. and Miss Mudstone took thei stand. Howeve I might have expessed my compehension of it at that time, if I had been called upon, I nevetheless did clealy compehend in my own way, that it was anothe name fo tyanny; and fo a cetain gloomy, aogant, devil’s humou, that was in them both. The ceed, as I should state it now, was this. M. Mudstone was fim; nobody in his wold was to be so fim as M. Mudstone; nobody else in his wold was to be fim at all, fo eveybody was to be bent to his fimness. Miss Mudstone was an exception. She might be fim, Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield but only by elationship, and in an infeio and tibutay degee. My mothe was anothe exception. She might be fim, and must be; but only in beaing thei fimness, and fimly believing thee was no othe fimness upon eath. ‘It’s vey had,’ said my mothe, ‘that in my own house—’ ‘My own house?’ epeated M. Mudstone. ‘Claa!’ ‘Ou own house, I mean,’ falteed my mothe, evidently fightened—‘I hope you must know what I mean, Edwad—it’s vey had that in you own house I may not have a wod to say about domestic mattes. I am sue I managed vey well befoe we wee maied. Thee’s evidence,’ said my mothe, sobbing; ‘ask Peggotty if I didn’t do vey well when I wasn’t intefeed with!’ ‘Edwad,’ said Miss Mudstone, ‘let thee be an end of this. I go tomoow.’ ‘Jane Mudstone,’ said he bothe, ‘be silent! How dae you to insinuate that you don’t know my chaacte bette than you wods imply?’ ‘I am sue,’ my poo mothe went on, at a gievous disadvantage, and with many teas, ‘I don’t want anybody to go. I should be vey miseable and unhappy if anybody was to go. I don’t ask much. I am not uneasonable. I only want to be consulted sometimes. I am vey much obliged to anybody who assists me, and I only want to be consulted as a mee fom, sometimes. I thought you wee pleased, once, with my being a little inexpeienced and gilish, Edwad—I am sue you said so— but you seem to hate me fo it now, you ae so sevee.’ ‘Edwad,’ said Miss Mudstone, again, ‘let thee be an end of this. I go tomoow.’ ‘Jane Mudstone,’ thundeed M. Mudstone. ‘Will you be Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield silent? How dae you?’ Miss Mudstone made a jail-delivey of he pocket-handkechief, and held it befoe he eyes. ‘Claa,’ he continued, looking at my mothe, ‘you supise me! You astound me! Yes, I had a satisfaction in the thought of maying an inexpeienced and atless peson, and foming he chaacte, and infusing into it some amount of that fimness and decision of which it stood in need. But when Jane Mudstone is kind enough to come to my assistance in this endeavou, and to assume, fo my sake, a condition something like a housekeepe’s, and when she meets with a base etun—’ ‘Oh, pay, pay, Edwad,’ cied my mothe, ‘don’t accuse me of being ungateful. I am sue I am not ungateful. No one eve said I was befoe. I have many faults, but not that. Oh, don’t, my dea!’ ‘When Jane Mudstone meets, I say,’ he went on, afte waiting until my mothe was silent, ‘with a base etun, that feeling of mine is chilled and alteed.’ ‘Don’t, my love, say that!’ imploed my mothe vey piteously. ‘Oh, don’t, Edwad! I can’t bea to hea it. Whateve I am, I am affectionate. I know I am affectionate. I wouldn’t say it, if I wasn’t sue that I am. Ask Peggotty. I am sue she’ll tell you I’m affectionate.’ ‘Thee is no extent of mee weakness, Claa,’ said M. Mudstone in eply, ‘that can have the least weight with me. You lose beath.’ ‘Pay let us be fiends,’ said my mothe, ‘I couldn’t live unde coldness o unkindness. I am so soy. I have a gea
