Little Dorrit Charles Dickens (e reader for manga TXT) 📖

precious to Little Dorrit, and heightened the relief they afforded her.

“Amy,” said Fanny to her one night when they were alone, after a day so tiring that Little Dorrit was quite worn out, though Fanny would have taken another dip into society with the greatest pleasure in life, “I am going to put something into your little head. You won’t guess what it is, I suspect.”

“I don’t think that’s likely, dear,” said Little Dorrit.

“Come, I’ll give you a clue, child,” said Fanny. “Mrs. General.”

Prunes and Prism, in a thousand combinations, having been wearily in the ascendant all day⁠—everything having been surface and varnish and show without substance⁠—Little Dorrit looked as if she had hoped that Mrs. General was safely tucked up in bed for some hours.

“Now, can you guess, Amy?” said Fanny.

“No, dear. Unless I have done anything,” said Little Dorrit, rather alarmed, and meaning anything calculated to crack varnish and ruffle surface.

Fanny was so very much amused by the misgiving, that she took up her favourite fan (being then seated at her dressing-table with her armoury of cruel instruments about her, most of them reeking from the heart of Sparkler), and tapped her sister frequently on the nose with it, laughing all the time.

“Oh, our Amy, our Amy!” said Fanny. “What a timid little goose our Amy is! But this is nothing to laugh at. On the contrary, I am very cross, my dear.”

“As it is not with me, Fanny, I don’t mind,” returned her sister, smiling.

“Ah! But I do mind,” said Fanny, “and so will you, Pet, when I enlighten you. Amy, has it never struck you that somebody is monstrously polite to Mrs. General?”

“Everybody is polite to Mrs. General,” said Little Dorrit. “Because⁠—”

“Because she freezes them into it?” interrupted Fanny. “I don’t mean that; quite different from that. Come! Has it never struck you, Amy, that Pa is monstrously polite to Mrs. General.”

Amy, murmuring “No,” looked quite confounded.

“No; I dare say not. But he is,” said Fanny. “He is, Amy. And remember my words. Mrs. General has designs on Pa!”

“Dear Fanny, do you think it possible that Mrs. General has designs on anyone?”

“Do I think it possible?” retorted Fanny. “My love, I know it. I tell you she has designs on Pa. And more than that, I tell you Pa considers her such a wonder, such a paragon of accomplishment, and such an acquisition to our family, that he is ready to get himself into a state of perfect infatuation with her at any moment. And that opens a pretty picture of things, I hope? Think of me with Mrs. General for a Mama!”

Little Dorrit did not reply, “Think of me with Mrs. General for a Mama;” but she looked anxious, and seriously inquired what had led Fanny to these conclusions.

“Lord, my darling,” said Fanny, tartly. “You might as well ask me how I know when a man is struck with myself! But, of course I do know. It happens pretty often: but I always know it. I know this in much the same way, I suppose. At all events, I know it.”

“You never heard Papa say anything?”

“Say anything?” repeated Fanny. “My dearest, darling child, what necessity has he had, yet awhile, to say anything?”

“And you have never heard Mrs. General say anything?”

“My goodness me, Amy,” returned Fanny, “is she the sort of woman to say anything? Isn’t it perfectly plain and clear that she has nothing to do at present but to hold herself upright, keep her aggravating gloves on, and go sweeping about? Say anything! If she had the ace of trumps in her hand at whist, she wouldn’t say anything, child. It would come out when she played it.”

“At least, you may be mistaken, Fanny. Now, may you not?”

“O yes, I may be,” said Fanny, “but I am not. However, I am glad you can contemplate such an escape, my dear, and I am glad that you can take this for the present with sufficient coolness to think of such a chance. It makes me hope that you may be able to bear the connection. I should not be able to bear it, and I should not try. I’d marry young Sparkler first.”

“O, you would never marry him, Fanny, under any circumstances.”

“Upon my word, my dear,” rejoined that young lady with exceeding indifference, “I wouldn’t positively answer even for that. There’s no knowing what might happen. Especially as I should have many opportunities, afterwards, of treating that woman, his mother, in her own style. Which I most decidedly should not be slow to avail myself of, Amy.”

No more passed between the sisters then; but what had passed gave the two subjects of Mrs. General and Mr. Sparkler great prominence in Little Dorrit’s mind, and thenceforth she thought very much of both.

Mrs. General, having long ago formed her own surface to such perfection that it hid whatever was below it (if anything), no observation was to be made in that quarter. Mr. Dorrit was undeniably very polite to her and had a high opinion of her; but Fanny, impetuous at most times, might easily be wrong for all that. Whereas, the Sparkler question was on the different footing that anyone could see what was going on there, and Little Dorrit saw it and pondered on it with many doubts and wonderings.

The devotion of Mr. Sparkler was only to be equalled by the caprice and cruelty of his enslaver. Sometimes she would prefer him to such distinction of notice, that he would chuckle aloud with joy; next day, or next hour, she would overlook him so completely, and drop him into such an abyss of obscurity, that he would groan under a weak pretence of coughing. The constancy of his attendance never touched Fanny: though he was so inseparable from Edward, that, when that gentleman wished for a change of society, he was under the irksome necessity of gliding out like a conspirator in disguised boats and by secret doors and back ways; though he was so solicitous to know how Mr. Dorrit was, that he called every other day to inquire,