"mashers" in those days), together with a humourist--he was kind enough
to suggest myself--would produce something very choice. Queen Elizabeth,
he fancied, was probably being reserved to go--let us hope in the long
distant future--with Ouida. It sounds a whimsical theory, set down here
in my words, not his; but the old fellow was so much in earnest that few
of us ever thought to laugh as he talked. Indeed, there were moments
on starry nights, as walking home from the office, we would pause on
Waterloo Bridge to enjoy the witchery of the long line of the Embankment
lights, when I could almost believe, as I listened to him, in the not
impossibility of his dreams.

Even as regards this world, it would often be a gain, one thinks, and no
loss, if some half-dozen of us were rolled together, or boiled down, or
whatever the process necessary might be, and something made out of us in
that way.

Have not you, my fair Reader, sometimes thought to yourself what a
delightful husband Tom this, plus Harry that, plus Dick the other, would
make? Tom is always so cheerful and good-tempered, yet you feel that in
the serious moments of life he would be lacking. A delightful hubby
when you felt merry, yes; but you would not go to him for comfort and
strength in your troubles, now would you? No, in your hour of sorrow,
how good it would be to have near you grave, earnest Harry. He is
a "good sort," Harry. Perhaps, after all, he is the best of the
three--solid, staunch, and true. What a pity he is just a trifle
commonplace and unambitious. Your friends, not knowing his sterling
hidden qualities, would hardly envy you; and a husband that no other
girl envies you--well, that would hardly be satisfactory, would it?
Dick, on the other hand, is clever and brilliant. He will make his way;
there will come a day, you are convinced, when a woman will be proud to
bear his name. If only he were not so self-centred, if only he were more
sympathetic.

But a combination of the three, or rather of the best qualities of the
three--Tom's good temper, Harry's tender strength, Dick's brilliant
masterfulness: that is the man who would be worthy of you.

The woman David Copperfield wanted was Agnes and Dora rolled into one.
He had to take them one after the other, which was not so nice. And did
he really love Agnes, Mr. Dickens; or merely feel he ought to? Forgive
me, but I am doubtful concerning that second marriage of Copperfield's.
Come, strictly betwee