“Nothing could be more satisfactory,” said Traddles; “and they are very agreeable old ladies, I am sure. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you were to be married years before me, Copperfield.”
“Does your Sophy play on any instrument, Traddles?” I enquired, in the pride of my heart.
“She knows enough of the piano to teach it to her little sisters,” said Traddles.
“Does she sing at all?” I asked.
“Why, she sings ballads, sometimes, to freshen up the others a little when they’re out of spirits,” said Traddles. “Nothing scientific.”
“She doesn’t sing to the guitar?” said I.
“Oh dear no!” said Traddles.
“Paint at all?”
“Not at all,” said Traddles.
I promised Traddles that he should hear Dora sing, and see some of her flower-painting. He said he should like it very much, and we went home arm in arm in great good humour and delight. I encouraged him to talk about Sophy, on the way; which he did with a loving reliance on her that I very much admired. I compared her in my mind with Dora, with considerable inward satisfaction; but I candidly admitted to myself that she seemed to be an excellent kind of girl for Traddles, too.