Presently, I began to
watch a young man near me whose face was very familiar. Finally, I rose,
and with a fast-beating heart said,
"Steerforth, won't you speak to me?"
He quickly glanced up, but there was no recognition in his face.
"My God," he suddenly exclaimed, "It's little Copperfield!"
Then ensued a violent shaking of hands, and a volley of questions on both
sides. He was studying at Oxford, but was on his way to visit his mother,
who lived just out of London. He was as handsome, and fascinating, and
gay, as ever, in fact quite bewilderingly so to me; and all those things
which I enjoyed, he pronounced dreadful bores, quite like a man of the
world. However, we got on famously, and when he invited me to go with him
to his home at Highgate, I accepted with pleasure, and spent a delightful
week there in the genteel, old-fashioned, quiet home. At the end of the
week, Steerforth decided to go with me to Yarmouth, so we travelled on
together to the inn there, and took rooms.
As early as possible the next day, I visited Peggotty. She did not
recognise me after our seven years' separation, but when at last it dawned
on her who I was, she cried, "My darling boy!" and we both burst into
tears, and were locked in one another's arms as though I were a child
again.
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