“I should not have supposed him to be very free with his money either,” I observed.
“Pardon me!” said Mr. Micawber, with an air of constraint, “I speak of my friend Heep as I have experience.”
“I am glad your experience is so favourable,” I returned.
“You are very obliging, my dear Copperfield,” said Mr. Micawber; and hummed a tune.
“Do you see much of Mr. Wickfield?” I asked, to change the subject.
“Not much,” said Mr. Micawber, slightingly. “Mr. Wickfield is, I dare say, a man of very excellent intentions; but he is—in short, he is obsolete.”
“I am afraid his partner seeks to make him so,” said I.
“My dear Copperfield!” returned Mr. Micawber, after some uneasy evolutions on his stool, “allow me to offer a remark! I am here, in a capacity of confidence. I am here, in a position of trust. The discussion of some topics, even with Mrs. Micawber herself (so long the partner of my various vicissitudes, and a woman of a remarkable lucidity of intellect), is, I am led to consider, incompatible with the functions now devolving on me. I would therefore take the liberty of suggesting that in our friendly intercourse—which I trust will never be disturbed!—we draw a line. On one side of this line,” said Mr. Micawber, representing it on the desk with the office ruler, “is the whole range of the human
intellect, with a trifling exception; on the other, is that exception; that is to say, the affairs of Messrs. Wickfield and Heep, with all belonging and appertaining thereunto. I trust I give no offence to the companion of my youth, in submitting this proposition to his cooler judgment?”
Though I saw an uneasy change in Mr. Micawber, which sat tightly on him, as if his new duties were a misfit, I felt I had no right to be offended. My telling him so, appeared to relieve him; and he shook hands with me.