Chapter XVII. Esther's Narrative

by Charles Dickens

　　Richard very often came to see us while we remained in London(though he soon failed in his letter-writing), and with his quickabilities, his good spirits, his good temper, his gaiety andfreshness, was always delightful. But though I liked him more andmore the better I knew him, I still felt more and more how much itwas to be regretted that he had been educated in no habits ofapplication and concentration. The system which had addressed himin exactly the same manner as it had addressed hundreds of otherboys, all varying in character and capacity, had enabled him todash through his tasks, always with fair credit and often withdistinction, but in a fitful, dazzling way that had confirmed hisreliance on those very qualities in himself which it had been mostdesirable to direct and train. They were good qualities, withoutwhich no high place can be meritoriously won, but like fire andwater, though excellent servants, they were very bad masters. Ifthey had been under Richard's direction, they would have been hisfriends; but Richard being under their direction, they became hisenemies.I write down these opinions not because I believe that this or anyother thing was so because I thought so, but only because I didthink so and I want to be quite candid about all I thought and did.These were my thoughts about Richard. I thought I often observedbesides how right my guardian was in what he had said, and that theuncertainties and delays of the Chancery suit had imparted to hisnature something of the careless spirit of a gamester who felt thathe was part of a great gaming system.Mr. and Mrs. Bayham Badger coming one afternoon when my guardianwas not at home, in the course of conversation I naturally inquiredafter Richard."Why, Mr. Carstone," said Mrs. Badger, "is very well and is, Iassure you, a great acquisition to our society. Captain Swosserused to say of me that I was always better than land a-head and abreeze a-starn to the midshipmen's mess when the purser's junk hadbecome as tough as the fore-topsel weather earings. It was hisnaval way of mentioning generally that I was an acquisition to anysociety. I may render the same tribute, I am sure, to Mr.Carstone. But I--you won't think me premature if I mention it?"I said no, as Mrs. Badger's insinuating tone seemed to require suchan answer."Nor Miss Clare?" said Mrs. Bayham Badger sweetly.Ada said no, too, and looked uneasy."Why, you see, my dears," said Mrs. Badger, "--you'll excuse mecalling you my dears?"We entreated Mrs. Badger not to mention it."Because you really are, if I may take the liberty of saying so,"pursued Mrs. Badger, "so perfectly charming. You see, my dears,that although I am still young--or Mr. Bayham Badger pays me thecompliment of saying so--""No," Mr. Badger called out like some one contradicting at a publicmeeting. "Not at all!""Very well," smiled Mrs. Badger, "we will say still young.""Undoubtedly," said Mr. Badger."My dears, though still young, I have had many opportunities ofobserving young men. There were many such on board the dear oldCrippler, I assure you. After that, when I was with CaptainSwosser in the Mediterranean, I embraced every opportunity ofknowing and befriending the midshipmen under Captain Swosser'scommand. You never heard them called the young gentlemen, mydears, and probably wonld not understand allusions to their pipe-claying their weekly accounts, but it is otherwise with me, forblue water has been a second home to me, and I have been quite asailor. Again, with Professor Dingo.""A man of European reputation," murmured Mr. Badger."When I lost my dear first and became the wife of my dear second,"said Mrs. Badger, speaking of her former husbands as if they wereparts of a charade, "I still enjoyed opportunities of observingyouth. The class attendant on Professor Dingo's lectures was alarge one, and it became my pride, as the wife of an eminentscientific man seeking herself in science the utmost consolation itcould impart, to throw our house open to the students as a kind ofScientific Exchange. Every Tuesday evening there was lemonade anda mixed biscuit for all who chose to partake of those refreshments.And there was science to an unlimited extent.""Remarkable assemblies those, Miss Summerson," said Mr. Badgerreverentially. "There must have been great intellectual frictiongoing on there under the auspices of such a man!""And now," pursued Mrs. Badger, "now that I am the wife of my dearthird, Mr. Badger, I still pursue those habits of observation whichwere formed during the lifetime of Captain Swosser and adapted tonew and unexpected purposes during the lifetime of Professor Dingo.I therefore have not come to the consideration of Mr. Carstone as aneophyte. And yet I am very much of the opinion, my dears, that hehas not chosen his profession advisedly."Ada looked so very anxious now that I asked Mrs. Badger on what shefounded her supposition."My dear Miss Summerson," she replied, "on Mr. Carstone's characterand conduct. He is of such a very easy disposition that probablyhe would never think it worthwhile to mention how he really feels,but he feels languid about the profession. He has not thatpositive interest in it which makes it his vocation. If he has anydecided impression in reference to it, I should say it was that itis a tiresome pursuit. Now, this is not promising. Young men likeMr. Allan Woodcourt who take it from a strong interest in all thatit can do will find some reward in it through a great deal of workfor a very little money and through years of considerable enduranceand disappointment. But I am quite convinced that this would neverbe the case with Mr. Carstone.""Does Mr. Badger think so too?" asked Ada timidly."Why," said Mr. Badger, "to tell the truth, Miss Clare, this viewof the matter had not occurred to me until Mrs. Badger mentionedit. But when Mrs. Badger put it in that light, I naturally gavegreat consideration to it, knowing that Mrs. Badger's mind, inaddition to its natural advantages, has had the rare advantage ofbeing formed by two such very distinguished (I will even sayillustrious) public men as Captain Swosser of the Royal Navy andProfessor Dingo. The conclusion at which I have arrived is--inshort, is Mrs. Badger's conclusion.""It was a maxim of Captain Swosser's," said Mrs. Badger, "speakingin his figurative naval manner, that when you make pitch hot, youcannot make it too hot; and that if you only have to swab a plank,you should swab it as if Davy Jones were after you. It appears tome that this maxim is applicable to the medical as well as to thenautical profession."To all professions," observed Mr. Badger. "It was admirably saidby Captain Swosser. Beautifully said.""People objected to Professor Dingo when we were staying in thenorth of Devon after our marriage," said Mrs. Badger, "that hedisfigured some of the houses and other buildings by chipping offfragments of those edifices with his little geological hammer. Butthe professor replied that he knew of no building save the Templeof Science. The principle is the same, I think?""Precisely the same," said Mr. Badger. "Finely expressed! Theprofessor made the same remark, Miss Summerson, in his lastillness, when (his mind wandering) he insisted on keeping hislittle hammer under the pillow and chipping at the countenances ofthe attendants. The ruling passion!"Although we could have dispensed with the length at which Mr. andMrs. Badger pursued the conversation, we both felt that it wasdisinterested in them to express the opinion they had communicatedto us and that there was a great probability of its being sound.We agreed to say nothing to Mr. Jarndyce until we had spoken toRichard; and as he was coming next evening, we resolved to have avery serious talk with him.So after he had been a little while with Ada, I went in and foundmy darling (as I knew she would be) prepared to consider himthoroughly right in whatever he said."And how do you get on, Richard?" said I. I always sat down on theother side of him. He made quite a sister of me."Oh! Well enough!" said Richard."He can't say better than that, Esther, can he?" cried my pettriumphantly.I tried to look at my pet in the wisest manner, but of course Icouldn't."Well enough?" I repeated."Yes," said Richard, "well enough. It's rather jog-trotty andhumdrum. But it'll do as well as anything else!""Oh! My dear Richard!" I remonstrated."What's the matter?" said Richard."Do as well as anything else!""I don't think there's any harm in that, Dame Durden," said Ada,looking so confidingly at me across him; "because if it will do aswell as anything else, it will do very well, I hope.""Oh, yes, I hope so," returned Richard, carelessly tossing his hairfrom his forehead. "After all, it may be only a kind of probationtill our suit is--I forgot though. I am not to mention the suit.Forbidden ground! Oh, yes, it's all right enough. Let us talkabout something else."Ada would have done so willingly, and with a full persuasion thatwe had brought the question to a most satisfactory state. But Ithought it would be useless to stop there, so I began again."No, but Richard," said I, "and my dear Ada! Consider howimportant it is to you both, and what a point of honour it istowards your cousin, that you, Richard, should be quite in earnestwithout any reservation. I think we had better talk about this,really, Ada. It will be too late very soon.""Oh, yes! We must talk about it!" said Ada. "But I think Richardis right."What was the use of my trying to look wise when she was so pretty,and so engaging, and so fond of him!"Mr. and Mrs. Badger were here yesterday, Richard," said I, "andthey seemed disposed to think that you had no great liking for theprofession.""Did they though?" said Richard. "Oh! Well, that rather alters thecase, because I had no idea that they thought so, and I should nothave liked to disappoint or inconvenience them. The fact is, Idon't care much about it. But, oh, it don't matter! It'll do aswell as anything else!""You hear him, Ada!" said I."The fact is," Richard proceeded, half thoughtfully and halfjocosely, "it is not quite in my way. I don't take to it. And Iget too much of Mrs. Bayham Badger's first and second.""I am sure that's very natural!" cried Ada, quite delighted. "Thevery thing we both said yesterday, Esther!""Then," pursued Richard, "it's monotonous, and to-day is too likeyesterday, and to-morrow is too like to-day.""But I am afraid," said I, "this is an objection to all kinds ofapplication--to life itself, except under some very uncommoncircumstances.""Do you think so?" returned Richard, still considering. "Perhaps!Ha! Why, then, you know," he added, suddenly becoming gay again,"we travel outside a circle to what I said just now. It'll do aswell as anything else. Oh, it's all right enough! Let us talkabout something else."But even Ada, with her loving face--and if it had seemed innocentand trusting when I first saw it in that memorable November fog,how much more did it seem now when I knew her innocent and trustingheart--even Ada shook her head at this and looked serious. So Ithought it a good opportunity to hint to Richard that if he weresometimes a little careless of himself, I was very sure he nevermeant to be careless of Ada, and that it was a part of hisaffectionate consideration for her not to slight the importance ofa step that might influence both their lives. This made him almostgrave."My dear Mother Hubbard," he said, "that's the very thing! I havethought of that several times and have been quite angry with myselffor meaning to be so much in earnest and--somehow--not exactlybeing so. I don't know how it is; I seem to want something orother to stand by. Even you have no idea how fond I am of Ada (mydarling cousin, I love you, so much!), but I don't settle down toconstancy in other things. It's such uphill work, and it takessuch a time!" said Richard with an air of vexation."That may be," I suggested, "because you don't like what you havechosen.""Poor fellow!" said Ada. "I am sure I don't wonder at it!"No. It was not of the least use my trying to look wise. I triedagain, but how could I do it, or how could it have any effect if Icould, while Ada rested her clasped hands upon his shoulder andwhile he looked at her tender blue eyes, and while they looked athim!"You see, my precious girl," said Richard, passing her golden curlsthrough and through his hand, "I was a little hasty perhaps; or Imisunderstood my own inclinations perhaps. They don't seem to liein that direction. I couldn't tell till I tried. Now the questionis whether it's worth-while to undo all that has been done. Itseems like making a great disturbance about nothing particular.""My dear Richard," said I, "how can you say about nothingparticular?""I don't mean absolutely that," he returned. "I mean that it maybe nothing particular because I may never want it."Both Ada and I urged, in reply, not only that it was decidedlyworth-while to undo what had been done, but that it must be undone.I then asked Richard whether he had thought of any more congenialpursuit."There, my dear Mrs. Shipton," said Richard, "you touch me home.Yes, I have. I have been thinking that the law is the boy for me.""The law!" repeated Ada as if she were afraid of the name."If I went into Kenge's office," said Richard, "and if I wereplaced under articles to Kenge, I should have my eye on the--hum!--the forbidden ground--and should be able to study it, and masterit, and to satisfy myself that it was not neglected and was beingproperly conducted. I should be able to look after Ada's interestsand my own interests (the same thing!); and I should peg away atBlackstone and all those fellows with the most tremendous ardour."I was not by any means so sure of that, and I saw how his hankeringafter the vague things yet to come of those long-deferred hopescast a shade on Ada's face. But I thought it best to encourage himin any project of continuous exertion, and only advised him to bequite sure that his mind was made up now."My dear Minerva," said Richard, "I am as steady as you are. Imade a mistake; we are all liable to mistakes; I won't do so anymore, and I'll become such a lawyer as is not often seen. That is,you know," said Richard, relapsing into doubt, "if it really isworth-while, after all, to make such a disturbance about nothingparticular!"This led to our saying again, with a great deal of gravity, allthat we had said already and to our coming to much the sameconclusion afterwards. But we so strongly advised Richard to befrank and open with Mr. Jarndyce, without a moment's delay, and hisdisposition was naturally so opposed to concealment that he soughthim out at once (taking us with him) and made a full avowal."Rick," said my guardian, after hearing him attentively, "we canretreat with honour, and we will. But we must he careful--for ourcousin s sake, Rick, for our cousin's sake--that we make no moresuch mistakes. Therefore, in the matter of the law, we will have agood trial before we decide. We will look before we leap, and takeplenty of time about it."Richard's energy was of such an impatient and fitful kind that hewould have liked nothing better than to have gone to Mr. Kenge'soffice in that hour and to have entered into articles with him onthe spot. Submitting, however, with a good grace to the cautionthat we had shown to be so necessary, he contented himself withsitting down among us in his lightest spirits and talking as if hisone unvarying purpose in life from childhood had been that onewhich now held possession of him. My guardian was very kind andcordial with him, but rather grave, enough so to cause Ada, when hehad departed and we were going upstairs to bed, to say, "CousinJohn, I hope you don't think the worse of Richard?""No, my love," said he."Because it was very natural that Richard should be mistaken insuch a difficult case. It is not uncommon.""No, no, my love," said he. "Don't look unhappy.""Oh, I am not unhappy, cousin John!" said Ada, smiling cheerfully,with her hand upon his shoulder, where she had put it in biddinghim good night. "But I should be a little so if you thought at allthe worse of Richard.""My dear," said Mr. Jarndyce, "I should think the worse of him onlyif you were ever in the least unhappy through his means. I shouldbe more disposed to quarrel with myself even then, than with poorRick, for I brought you together. But, tut, all this is nothing!He has time before him, and the race to run. I think the worse ofhim? Not I, my loving cousin! And not you, I swear!""No, indeed, cousin John," said Ada, "I am sure I could not--I amsure I would not--think any ill of Richard if the whole world did.I could, and I would, think better of him then than at any othertime!"So quietly and honestly she said it, with her hands upon hisshoulders--both hands now--and looking up into his face, like thepicture of truth!"I think," said my guardian, thoughtfully regarding her, "I thinkit must be somewhere written that the virtues of the mothers shalloccasionally be visited on the children, as well as the sins of thefather. Good night, my rosebud. Good night, little woman.Pleasant slumbers! Happy dreams!"This was the first time I ever saw him follow Ada with his eyeswith something of a shadow on their benevolent expression. I wellremembered the look with which he had contemplated her and Richardwhen she was singing in the firelight; it was but a very littlewhile since he had watched them passing down the room in which thesun was shining, and away into the shade; but his glance waschanged, and even the silent look of confidence in me which nowfollowed it once more was not quite so hopeful and untroubled as ithad originally been.Ada praised Richard more to me that night than ever she had praisedhim yet. She went to sleep with a little bracelet he had given herclasped upon her arm. I fancied she was dreaming of him when Ikissed her cheek after she had slept an hour and saw how tranquiland happy she looked.For I was so little inclined to sleep myself that night that I satup working. It would not be worth mentioning for its own sake, butI was wakeful and rather low-spirited. I don't know why. At leastI don't think I know why. At least, perhaps I do, but I don'tthink it matters.At any rate, I made up my mind to be so dreadfully industrious thatI would leave myself not a moment's leisure to be low-spirited.For I naturally said, "Esther! You to be low-spirited. You!" Andit really was time to say so, for I--yes, I really did see myselfin the glass, almost crying. "As if you had anything to make youunhappy, instead of everything to make you happy, you ungratefulheart!" said I.If I could have made myself go to sleep, I would have done itdirectly, but not being able to do that, I took out of my basketsome ornamental work for our house (I mean Bleak House) that I wasbusy with at that time and sat down to it with great determination.It was necessary to count all the stitches in that work, and Iresolved to go on with it until I couldn't keep my eyes open, andthen to go to bed.I soon found myself very busy. But I had left some silk downstairsin a work-table drawer in the temporary growlery, and coming to astop for want of it, I took my candle and went softly down to getit. To my great surprise, on going in I found my guardian stillthere, and sitting looking at the ashes. He was lost in thought,his book lay unheeded by his side, his silvered iron-grey hair wasscattered confusedly upon his forehead as though his hand had beenwandering among it while his thoughts were elsewhere, and his facelooked worn. Almost frightened by coming upon him so unexpectedly,I stood still for a moment and should have retired without speakinghad he not, in again passing his hand abstractedly through hishair, seen me and started."Esther!"I told him what I had come for."At work so late, my dear?""I am working late to-night," said I, "because I couldn't sleep andwished to tire myself. But, dear guardian, you are late too, andlook weary. You have no trouble, I hope, to keep you waking?""None, little woman, that you would readily understand," said he.He spoke in a regretful tone so new to me that I inwardly repeated,as if that would help me to his meaning, "That I could readilyunderstand!""Remain a moment, Esther," said he, "You were in my thoughts.""I hope I was not the trouble, guardian?"He slightly waved his hand and fell into his usual manner. Thechange was so remarkable, and he appeared to make it by dint of somuch self-command, that I found myself again inwardly repeating,"None that I could understand!""Little woman," said my guardian, "I was thinking--that is, I havebeen thinking since I have been sitting here--that you ought toknow of your own history all I know. It is very little. Next tonothing.""Dear guardian," I replied, "when you spoke to me before on thatsubject--""But since then," he gravely interposed, anticipating what I meantto say, "I have reflected that your having anything to ask me, andmy having anything to tell you, are different considerations,Esther. It is perhaps my duty to impart to you the little I know.""If you think so, guardian, it is right.""I think so," he returned very gently, and kindly, and verydistinctly. "My dear, I think so now. If any real disadvantagecan attach to your position in the mind of any man or woman worth athought, it is right that you at least of all the world should notmagnify it to yourself by having vague impressions of its nature."I sat down and said after a little effort to be as calm as I oughtto be, "One of my earliest remembrances, guardian, is of thesewords: 'Your mother, Esther, is your disgrace, and you were hers.The time will come, and soon enough, when you will understand thisbetter, and will feel it too, as no one save a woman can.'" I hadcovered my face with my hands in repeating the words, but I tookthem away now with a better kind of shame, I hope, and told himthat to him I owed the blessing that I had from my childhood tothat hour never, never, never felt it. He put up his hand as if tostop me. I well knew that he was never to be thanked, and said nomore."Nine years, my dear," he said after thinking for a little while,"have passed since I received a letter from a lady living inseclusion, written with a stern passion and power that rendered itunlike all other letters I have ever read. It was written to me(as it told me in so many words), perhaps because it was thewriter's idiosyncrasy to put that trust in me, perhaps because itwas mine to justify it. It told me of a child, an orphan girl thentwelve years old, in some such cruel words as those which live inyour remembrance. It told me that the writer had bred her insecrecy from her birth, had blotted out all trace of her existence,and that if the writer were to die before the child became a woman,she would be left entirely friendless, nameless, and unknown. Itasked me to consider if I would, in that case, finish what thewriter had begun."I listened in silence and looked attentively at him."Your early recollection, my dear, will supply the gloomy mediumthrough which all this was seen and expressed by the writer, andthe distorted religion which clouded her mind with impressions ofthe need there was for the child to expiate an offence of which shewas quite innocent. I felt concerned for the little creature, inher darkened life, and replied to the letter."I took his hand and kissed it."It laid the injunction on me that I should never propose to seethe writer, who had long been estranged from all intercourse withthe world, but who would see a confidential agent if I wouldappoint one. I accredited Mr. Kenge. The lady said, of her ownaccord and not of his seeking, that her name was an assumed one.That she was, if there were any ties of blood in such a case, thechild's aunt. That more than this she would never (and he was wellpersuaded of the steadfastness of her resolution) for any humanconsideration disclose. My dear, I have told you all."I held his hand for a little while in mine."I saw my ward oftener than she saw me," he added, cheerily makinglight of it, "and I always knew she was beloved, useful, and happy.She repays me twenty-thousandfold, and twenty more to that, everyhour in every day!""And oftener still," said I, '"she blesses the guardian who is afather to her!"At the word father, I saw his former trouble come into his face.He subdued it as before, and it was gone in an instant; but it hadbeen there and it had come so swiftly upon my words that I felt asif they had given him a shock. I again inwardly repeated,wondering, "That I could readily understand. None that I couldreadily understand!" No, it was true. I did not understand it.Not for many and many a day."Take a fatherly good night, my dear," said he, kissing me on theforehead, "and so to rest. These are late hours for working andthinking. You do that for all of us, all day long, littlehousekeeper!"I neither worked nor thought any more that night. I opened mygrateful heart to heaven in thankfulness for its providence to meand its care of me, and fell asleep.We had a visitor next day. Mr. Allan Woodcourt came. He came totake leave of us; he had settled to do so beforehand. He was goingto China and to India as a surgeon on board ship. He was to beaway a long, long time.I believe--at least I know--that he was not rich. All his widowedmother could spare had been spent in qualifying him for hisprofession. It was not lucrative to a young practitioner, withvery little influence in London; and although he was, night andday, at the service of numbers of poor people and did wonders ofgentleness and skill for them, he gained very little by it inmoney. He was seven years older than I. Not that I need mentionit, for it hardly seems to belong to anything.I think--I mean, he told us--that he had been in practice three orfour years and that if he could have hoped to contend through threeor four more, he would not have made the voyage on which he wasbound. But he had no fortune or private means, and so he was goingaway. He had been to see us several times altogether. We thoughtit a pity he should go away. Because he was distinguished in hisart among those who knew it best, and some of the greatest menbelonging to it had a high opinion of him.When he came to bid us good-bye, he brought his mother with him forthe first time. She was a pretty old lady, with bright black eyes,but she seemed proud. She came from Wales and had had, a long timeago, an eminent person for an ancestor, of the name of Morgan ap-Kerrig--of some place that sounded like Gimlet--who was the mostillustrious person that ever was known and all of whose relationswere a sort of royal family. He appeared to have passed his lifein always getting up into mountains and fighting somebody; and abard whose name sounded like Crumlinwallinwer had sung his praisesin a piece which was called, as nearly as I could catch it,Mewlinnwillinwodd.Mrs. Woodcourt, after expatiating to us on the fame of her greatkinsman, said that no doubt wherever her son Allan went he wouldremember his pedigree and would on no account form an alliancebelow it. She told him that there were many handsome Englishladies in India who went out on speculation, and that there weresome to be picked up with property, but that neither charms norwealth would suffice for the descendant from such a line withoutbirth, which must ever be the first consideration. She talked somuch about birth that for a moment I half fancied, and with pain--But what an idle fancy to suppose that she could think or care whatmine was!Mr. Woodcourt seemed a little distressed by her prolixity, but hewas too considerate to let her see it and contrived delicately tobring the conversation round to making his acknowledgments to myguardian for his hospitality and for the very happy hours--hecalled them the very happy hours--he had passed with us. Therecollection of them, he said, would go with him wherever he wentand would be always treasured. And so we gave him our hands, oneafter another--at least, they did--and I did; and so he put hislips to Ada's hand--and to mine; and so he went away upon his long,long voyage!I was very busy indeed all day and wrote directions home to theservants, and wrote notes for my guardian, and dusted his books andpapers, and jingled my housekeeping keys a good deal, one way andanother. I was still busy between the lights, singing and workingby the window, when who should come in but Caddy, whom I had noexpectation of seeing!"Why, Caddy, my dear," said I, "what beautiful flowers!"She had such an exquisite little nosegay in her hand."Indeed, I think so, Esther," replied Caddy. "They are theloveliest I ever saw.""Prince, my dear?" said I in a whisper."No," answered Caddy, shaking her head and holding them to me tosmell. "Not Prince.""Well, to be sure, Caddy!" said I. "You must have two lovers!""What? Do they look like that sort of thing?" said Caddy."Do they look like that sort of thing?" I repeated, pinching hercheek.Caddy only laughed in return, and telling me that she had come forhalf an hour, at the expiration of which time Prince would bewaiting for her at the corner, sat chatting with me and Ada in thewindow, every now and then handing me the flowers again or tryinghow they looked against my hair. At last, when she was going, shetook me into my room and put them in my dress."For me?" said I, surprised."For you," said Caddy with a kiss. "They were left behind bysomebody.""Left behind?""At poor Miss Flite's," said Caddy. "Somebody who has been verygood to her was hurrying away an hour ago to join a ship and leftthese flowers behind. No, no! Don't take them out. Let thepretty little things lie here," said Caddy, adjusting them with acareful hand, "because I was present myself, and I shouldn't wonderif somebody left them on purpose!""Do they look like that sort of thing?" said Ada, coming laughinglybehind me and clasping me merrily round the waist. "Oh, yes,indeed they do, Dame Durden! They look very, very like that sortof thing. Oh, very like it indeed, my dear!"