Дэвид Копперфильд

I Look About Me, and Make a Discovery

           ButthereisnoonethatIknowof,whodeservestoloveyou,Agnes.Someoneofanoblercharacter,andmoreworthyaltogetherthananyoneIhaveeverseenhere,mustriseup,beforeIgivemyconsent.Inthetimetocome,Ishallhaveawaryeyeonalladmirers;andshallexactagreatdealfromthesuccessfulone,Iassureyou.’

           Wehadgoneon,sofar,inamixtureofconfidentialjestandearnest,thathadlonggrownnaturallyoutofourfamiliarrelations,begunasmerechildren.ButAgnes,nowsuddenlyliftinguphereyestomine,andspeakinginadifferentmanner,said:

           ‘Trotwood,thereissomethingthatIwanttoaskyou,andthatImaynothaveanotheropportunityofaskingforalongtime,perhaps-somethingIwouldask,Ithink,ofnooneelse.HaveyouobservedanygradualalterationinPapa?’

           Ihadobservedit,andhadoftenwonderedwhethershehadtoo.Imusthaveshownasmuch,now,inmyface;forhereyeswereinamomentcastdown,andIsawtearsinthem.

           ‘Tellmewhatitis,’shesaid,inalowvoice.

           ‘IthinkshallIbequiteplain,Agnes,likinghimsomuch?’

           ‘Yes,’shesaid.

           ‘IthinkhedoeshimselfnogoodbythehabitthathasincreaseduponhimsinceIfirstcamehere.HeisoftenverynervousorIfancyso.’

           ‘Itisnotfancy,’saidAgnes,shakingherhead.

           ‘Hishandtrembles,hisspeechisnotplain,andhiseyeslookwild.

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