that she had taken lodgings for a week at a kind of private hotel at
Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where there was a stone staircase, and a
convenient door in the roof; my aunt being firmly persuaded that
every house in London was going to be burnt down every night.
We achieved the rest of our journey pleasantly, sometimes
recurring to Doctors’ Commons, and anticipating the distant days
when I should be a proctor there, which Steerforth pictured in a
variety of humorous and whimsical lights, that made us both
merry. When we came to our journey’s end, he went home,
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engaging to call upon me next day but one; and I drove to
Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where I found my aunt up, and waiting
supper.
If I had been round the world since we parted, we could hardly
have been better pleased to meet again. My aunt cried outright as
she embraced me; and said, pretending to laugh, that if my poor
mother had been alive, that silly little creature would have shed
tears, she had no doubt.
‘So you have left Mr. Dick behind, aunt?’ said I. ‘I am sorry for
that. Ah, Janet, how do you do?’
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