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

this gratifying and impressive occasion of⁠—ha⁠—solemnly remarking, that it is now a cherished wish and purpose of mine to see you⁠—ha⁠—eligibly (I repeat eligibly) married.”

“Oh no, dear! Pray!”

“Amy,” said Mr. Dorrit, “I am well persuaded that if the topic were referred to any person of superior social knowledge, of superior delicacy and sense⁠—let us say, for instance, to⁠—ha⁠—Mrs. General⁠—that there would not be two opinions as to the⁠—hum⁠—affectionate character and propriety of my sentiments. But, as I know your loving and dutiful nature from⁠—hum⁠—from experience, I am quite satisfied that it is necessary to say no more. I have⁠—hum⁠—no husband to propose at present, my dear: I have not even one in view. I merely wish that we should⁠—ha⁠—understand each other. Hum. Good night, my dear and sole remaining daughter. Good night. God bless you!”

If the thought ever entered Little Dorrit’s head that night, that he could give her up lightly now in his prosperity, and when he had it in his mind to replace her with a second wife, she drove it away. Faithful to him still, as in the worst times through which she had borne him single-handed, she drove the thought away; and entertained no harder reflection, in her tearful unrest, than that he now saw everything through their wealth, and through the care he always had upon him that they should continue rich, and grow richer.

They sat in their equipage of state, with Mrs. General on the box, for three weeks longer, and then he started for Florence to join Fanny. Little Dorrit would have been glad to bear him company so far, only for the sake of her own love, and then to have turned back alone, thinking of dear England. But, though the Courier had gone on with the Bride, the Valet was next in the line; and the succession would not have come to her, as long as anyone could be got for money.

Mrs. General took life easily⁠—as easily, that is, as she could take anything⁠—when the Roman establishment remained in their sole occupation; and Little Dorrit would often ride out in a hired carriage that was left them, and alight alone and wander among the ruins of old Rome. The ruins of the vast old Amphitheatre, of the old Temples, of the old commemorative Arches, of the old trodden highways, of the old tombs, besides being what they were, to her were ruins of the old Marshalsea⁠—ruins of her own old life⁠—ruins of the faces and forms that of old peopled it⁠—ruins of its loves, hopes, cares, and joys. Two ruined spheres of action and suffering were before the solitary girl often sitting on some broken fragment; and in the lonely places, under the blue sky, she saw them both together.

Up, then, would come Mrs. General; taking all the colour out of everything, as Nature and Art had taken it out of herself; writing Prunes and Prism, in Mr. Eustace’s text, wherever she could lay a hand; looking everywhere for Mr. Eustace and company, and seeing nothing else; scratching up the driest little bones of antiquity, and bolting them whole without any human visitings⁠—like a Ghoule in gloves.

XVI Getting On

The newly married pair, on their arrival in Harley Street, Cavendish Square, London, were received by the Chief Butler. That great man was not interested in them, but on the whole endured them. People must continue to be married and given in marriage, or Chief Butlers would not be wanted. As nations are made to be taxed, so families are made to be butlered. The Chief Butler, no doubt, reflected that the course of nature required the wealthy population to be kept up, on his account.

He therefore condescended to look at the carriage from the Hall-door without frowning at it, and said, in a very handsome way, to one of his men, “Thomas, help with the luggage.” He even escorted the Bride upstairs into Mr. Merdle’s presence; but this must be considered as an act of homage to the sex (of which he was an admirer, being notoriously captivated by the charms of a certain Duchess), and not as a committal of himself with the family.

Mr. Merdle was slinking about the hearthrug, waiting to welcome Mrs. Sparkler. His hand seemed to retreat up his sleeve as he advanced to do so, and he gave her such a superfluity of coat-cuff that it was like being received by the popular conception of Guy Fawkes. When he put his lips to hers, besides, he took himself into custody by the wrists, and backed himself among the ottomans and chairs and tables as if he were his own police officer, saying to himself, “Now, none of that! Come! I’ve got you, you know, and you go quietly along with me!”

Mrs. Sparkler, installed in the rooms of state⁠—the innermost sanctuary of down, silk, chintz, and fine linen⁠—felt that so far her triumph was good, and her way made, step by step. On the day before her marriage, she had bestowed on Mrs. Merdle’s maid with an air of gracious indifference, in Mrs. Merdle’s presence, a trifling little keepsake (bracelet, bonnet, and two dresses, all new) about four times as valuable as the present formerly made by Mrs. Merdle to her. She was now established in Mrs. Merdle’s own rooms, to which some extra touches had been given to render them more worthy of her occupation. In her mind’s eye, as she lounged there, surrounded by every luxurious accessory that wealth could obtain or invention devise, she saw the fair bosom that beat in unison with the exultation of her thoughts, competing with the bosom that had been famous so long, outshining it, and deposing it. Happy? Fanny must have been happy. No more wishing one’s self dead now.

The Courier had not approved of Mr. Dorrit’s staying in the house of a friend, and had preferred to take him to an hotel in Brook Street, Grosvenor Square. Mr. Merdle ordered his carriage to be ready early in the morning that he might wait upon Mr. Dorrit immediately after breakfast.

Bright the carriage looked,