His hair and whiskers were blacker and thicker, looked at so near, than even I had given them credit for being. A squareness about the lower part of his face, and the dotted indication of the strong black beard he shaved close every day, reminded me of the wax-work that had travelled into our neighbourhood some half a year before. This, his regular eyebrows, and the rich white and black and brown of his complexion—confound his complexion, and his memory!—made me think him, in spite of my misgivings, a very handsome man. I have no doubt that my poor dear mother thought him so too.

We went to an hotel by the sea, where two gentlemen were smoking cigars in a room by themselves. Each of them was lying on at least four chairs, and had a large rough jacket on. In a corner was a heap of coats and boat-cloaks and a flag, all bundled up together.

They both rolled onto their feet, in an untidy sort of manner, when we came in, and said, “Halloa, Murdstone! We thought you were dead!”

“Not yet,” said Mr. Murdstone.

“And who’s this shaver?” said one of the gentlemen, taking hold of me.

“That’s Davy,” returned Mr. Murdstone.

“Davy who?” said the gentleman. “Jones?”

“Copperfield,” said Mr. Murdstone.

“What! Betwitching Mrs. Copperfield’s incumbrance?” cried the gentleman. “The pretty little widow?”

“Quinion,” said Mr. Murdstone, “take care, if you please. Somebody’s sharp.”

“Who is?” asked the gentleman, laughing.

I looked up quickly, being curious to know.

“Only Brooks of Sheffield,” said Mr. Murdstone.

I was quite relieved to find that it was only Brooks of Sheffield, for, at first, I really thought it was L

There seemed to be something very comical in the reputation of Mr. Brooks of Sheffield, for both the gentlemen laughed heartily when he was mentioned, and Mr. Murdstone was a good deal amused also. After some laughing, the gentleman whom he had called Quinion said:

“And what is the opinion of Brooks of Sheffield, in reference to the projected business?”

“Why, I don’t know that Brooks understands much about it at present,” replied Mr. Murdstone, “but he is not generally favourable, I believe.”

There was more laughter at this, and Mr. Quinion said he would ring the bell for some sherry in which to drink to Brooks. This he did, and, when the wine came, he made me have a little, with a biscuit, and, before I drank it, stand up and say, “Confusion to Brooks of Sheffield!” The toast was received with great applause, and such hearty laughter that it made me laugh too, at which they laughed the more. In short, we quite enjoyed ourselves.

We walked about on the cliff after that, and sat on the grass, and looked at things through a telescope—I could make out nothing myself when it was put to my eye, but I pretended I could—and then we came back to the hotel to an early dinner. All the time we were out, the two gentlemen smoked incessantly—which, I thought, if I might judge from the smell of their rough coats, they must have been doing ever since the coats had first come home from the tailor’s. I must not forget that we went on board the yacht, where they all three descended into the cabin, and were busy with some papers. I saw them quite hard at work, when I looked down through the open skylight. They left me, during this time, with a very nice man, with a very large head of red hair and a very small shiny hat upon it, who had got a cross-barred shirt or waistcoat on, with “Skylark” in capital letters across the chest. I thought it was his name, and that, as he lived on board ship and hadn’t a street-door to put his name on, he put it there instead, but when I called him Mr. Skylark, he said it meant the vessel.

I observed all day that Mr. Murdstone was graver and steadier than the two gentlemen. They were very gay and careless.