Дэвид Копперфильд

I Visit Steerforth at His Home, Again

           ‘Dearme!Supposingthen,forinstance—anyunlikelythingwilldoforasuppositionthatyouandyourmotherweretohaveaseriousquarrel.’

           ‘MydearRosa,’interposedMrs.Steerforth,laughinggood-naturedly,‘suggestsomeothersupposition!JamesandIknowourdutytoeachotherbetter,IprayHeaven!’

           ‘Oh!’saidMissDartle,noddingherheadthoughtfully.‘Tobesure.Thatwouldpreventit?Why,ofcourseitwould.Exactly.Now,IamgladIhavebeensofoolishastoputthecase,foritissoverygoodtoknowthatyourdutytoeachotherwouldpreventit!Thankyouverymuch.’

           OneotherlittlecircumstanceconnectedwithMissDartleImustnotomit;forIhadreasontorememberitthereafter,whenalltheirremediablepastwasrenderedplain.Duringthewholeofthisday,butespeciallyfromthisperiodofit,Steerforthexertedhimselfwithhisutmostskill,andthatwaswithhisutmostease,tocharmthissingularcreatureintoapleasantandpleasedcompanion.Thatheshouldsucceed,wasnomatterofsurprisetome.Thatsheshouldstruggleagainstthefascinatinginfluenceofhisdelightfulart—delightfulnatureIthoughtitthen—didnotsurprisemeeither;forIknewthatshewassometimesjaundicedandperverse.

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