‘and so is the sight of you, Daisy, in full bloom.
How are you, my Bacchanal?’
‘I am very well,’ said I; ‘and not at all Bacchanalian tonight, though I confess to another party of three.’
‘All of whom I met in the street, talking loud in your praise,’ returned Steerforth. ‘Who’s our friend in the tights?’
I gave him the best idea I could, in a few words, of Mr. Micawber. He laughed heartily at my feeble portrait of that gentleman, and said he was a man to know, and he must know him.
‘But who do you suppose our other friend is?’ said I, in my turn.
‘Heaven knows,’ said Steerforth.