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ignominiously given away in the Marshalsea, and had never got free

to that hour, but still hovered about the yards on the head of his

successor.

He took very little supper, but was a long time over it, and often

reverted to his brother's declining state. Though he expressed the

greatest pity for him, he was almost bitter upon him. He said that poor

Frederick--ha hum--drivelled. There was no other word to express it;

drivelled. Poor fellow! It was melancholy to reflect what Amy must have

undergone from the excessive tediousness of his Society--wandering and

babbling on, poor dear estimable creature, wandering and babbling on--if

it had not been for the relief she had had in Mrs General.

Extremely sorry, he then repeated with his former satisfaction, that

that--ha--superior woman was poorly.

Little Dorrit, in her watchful love, would have remembered the lightest

thing he said or did that night, though she had had no subsequent reason

to recall that night. She always remembered that, when he looked about

him under the strong influence of the old association, he tried to

keep it out of her mind, and perhaps out of his own too, by immediately

expatiating on the great riches and great company that had encompassed

him in his absence, and on the lofty position he and his family had to

sustain. Nor did she fail to recall that there were two under-currents,

side by side, pervading all his discourse and all his manner; one

showing her how well he had got on without her, and how independent

he was of her; the other, in a fitful and unintelligible way almost

complaining of her, as if it had been possible that she had neglected

him while he was away.

His telling her of the glorious state that Mr Merdle kept, and of the

court that bowed before him, naturally brought him to Mrs Merdle. So

naturally indeed, that although there was an unusual want of sequence in

the greater part of his remarks, he passed to her at once, and asked how

she was.

'She is very well. She is going away next week.'

'Home?' asked Mr Dorrit.

'After a few weeks' stay upon the road.'

'She will be a vast loss here,' said Mr Dorrit. 'A vast--ha--acquisition

at home. To Fanny, and to--hum--the rest of the--ha--great world.'

Little Dorrit thought of the competition that was to be entered upon,

and assented very softly.

'Mrs Merdle is going to have a great farewell Assembly, dear, and a

dinner before it. She has been expressing her anxiety that you should

return in time. She has invited both you and me to her dinner.'

'She is--ha--very kind. When is the day?'

'The day after to-morrow.'

'Write round in the morning, and say that I have returned, and

shall--hum--be delighted.'

'May I walk with you up the stairs to your room, dear?'

'No!' he answered, looking angrily round; for he was moving away, as if

forgetful of leave-taking. 'You may not, Amy. I want no help. I am your

father, not your infirm uncle!' He checked himself, as abruptly as he

had broken into this reply, and said, 'You have not kissed me, Amy. Good

night, my dear! We must marry--ha--we must marry YOU, now.' With that

he went, more slowly and more tired, up the staircase to his rooms, and,

almost as soon as he got there, dismissed his valet. His next care was

to look about him for his Paris purchases, and, after opening their

cases and carefully surveying them, to put them away under lock and

key. After that, what with dozing and what with castle-building, he lost

himself for a long time, so that there was a touch of morning on the

eastward rim of the desolate Campagna when he crept to bed.

Mrs General sent up her compliments in good time next day, and hoped

he had rested well after this fatiguing journey. He sent down his

compliments, and begged to inform Mrs General that he had rested very

well indeed, and was in high condition. Nevertheless, he did not come

forth from his own rooms until late in the afternoon; and, although he

then caused himself to be magnificently arrayed for a drive with

Mrs General and his daughter, his appearance was scarcely up to his

description of himself. As the family had no visitors that day, its four

members dined alone together. He conducted Mrs General to the seat at

his right hand with immense ceremony; and Little Dorrit could not

but notice as she followed with her uncle, both that he was again

elaborately dressed, and that his manner towards Mrs General was very

particular. The perfect formation of that accomplished lady's surface

rendered it difficult to displace an atom of its genteel glaze, but

Little Dorrit thought she descried a slight thaw of triumph in a corner

of her frosty eye.

Notwithstanding what may be called in these pages the Pruney and

Prismatic nature of the family banquet, Mr Dorrit several times fell

asleep while it was in progress. His fits of dozing were as sudden as

they had been overnight, and were as short and profound. When the first

of these slumberings seized him, Mrs General looked almost amazed: but,

on each recurrence of the symptoms, she told her polite beads, Papa,

Potatoes, Poultry, Prunes, and Prism; and, by dint of going through that

infallible performance very slowly, appeared to finish her rosary at

about the same time as Mr Dorrit started from his sleep.

He was again painfully aware of a somnolent tendency in Frederick (which

had no existence out of his own imagination), and after dinner, when

Frederick had withdrawn, privately apologised to Mrs General for the

poor man. 'The most estimable and affectionate of brothers,' he said,

'but--ha, hum--broken up altogether. Unhappily, declining fast.'

'Mr Frederick, sir,' quoth Mrs General, 'is habitually absent and

drooping, but let us hope it is not so bad as that.'

Mr Dorrit, however, was determined not to let him off. 'Fast declining,

madam. A wreck. A ruin. Mouldering away before our eyes. Hum. Good

Frederick!'

'You left Mrs Sparkler quite well and happy, I trust?' said Mrs General,

after heaving a cool sigh for Frederick.

'Surrounded,' replied Mr Dorrit, 'by--ha--all that can charm the taste,

and--hum--elevate the mind. Happy, my dear madam, in a--hum--husband.'

Mrs General was a little fluttered; seeming delicately to put the word

away with her gloves, as if there were no knowing what it might lead to.

'Fanny,' Mr Dorrit continued. 'Fanny, Mrs General, has high

qualities. Ha. Ambition--hum--purpose, consciousness of--ha--position,

determination to support that position--ha, hum--grace, beauty, and

native nobility.'

'No doubt,' said Mrs General (with a little extra stiffness).

'Combined with these qualities, madam,' said Mr Dorrit, 'Fanny

has--ha--manifested one blemish which has made me--hum--made me uneasy,

and--ha--I must add, angry; but which I trust may now be considered

at an end, even as to herself, and which is undoubtedly at an end as

to--ha--others.'

'To what, Mr Dorrit,' returned Mrs General, with her gloves again

somewhat excited, 'can you allude? I am at a loss to--'

'Do not say that, my dear madam,' interrupted Mr Dorrit.

Mrs General's voice, as it died away, pronounced the words, 'at a loss

to imagine.'

After which Mr Dorrit was seized with a doze for about a minute, out of

which he sprang with spasmodic nimbleness.

'I refer, Mrs General, to that--ha--strong spirit of opposition,

or--hum--I might say--ha--jealousy in Fanny, which has occasionally

risen against the--ha--sense I entertain of--hum--the claims of--ha--the

lady with whom I have now the honour of communing.'

'Mr Dorrit,' returned Mrs General, 'is ever but too obliging, ever but

too appreciative. If there have been moments when I have imagined that

Miss Dorrit has indeed resented the favourable opinion Mr Dorrit has

formed of my services, I have found, in that only too high opinion, my

consolation and recompense.'

'Opinion of your services, madam?' said Mr Dorrit.

'Of,' Mrs General repeated, in an elegantly impressive manner, 'my

services.'

'Of your services alone, dear madam?' said Mr Dorrit.

'I presume,' retorted Mrs General, in her former impressive manner, 'of

my services alone. For, to what else,' said Mrs General, with a slightly

interrogative action of her gloves, 'could I impute--'

'To--ha--yourself, Mrs General. Ha, hum. To yourself and your merits,'

was Mr Dorrit's rejoinder.

'Mr Dorrit will pardon me,' said Mrs General, 'if I remark that this

is not a time or place for the pursuit of the present conversation.

Mr Dorrit will excuse me if I remind him that Miss Dorrit is in the

adjoining room, and is visible to myself while I utter her name. Mr

Dorrit will forgive me if I observe that I am agitated, and that I find

there are moments when weaknesses I supposed myself to have subdued,

return with redoubled power. Mr Dorrit will allow me to withdraw.'

'Hum. Perhaps we may resume this--ha--interesting conversation,' said

Mr Dorrit, 'at another time; unless it should be, what I hope it is

not--hum--in any way disagreeable to--ah--Mrs General.' 'Mr Dorrit,'

said Mrs General, casting down her eyes as she rose with a bend, 'must

ever claim my homage and obedience.'

Mrs General then took herself off in a stately way, and not with that

amount of trepidation upon her which might have been expected in a less

remarkable woman. Mr Dorrit, who had conducted his part of the dialogue

with a certain majestic and admiring condescension--much as some people

may be seen to conduct themselves in Church, and to perform their part

in the service--appeared, on the whole, very well satisfied with himself

and with Mrs General too. On the return of that lady to tea, she had

touched herself up with a little powder and pomatum, and was not without

moral enchantment likewise: the latter showing itself in much sweet

patronage of manner towards Miss Dorrit, and in an air of as tender

interest in Mr Dorrit as was consistent with rigid propriety. At the

close of the evening, when she rose to retire, Mr Dorrit took her by the

hand as if he were going to lead her out into the Piazza of the people

to walk a minuet by moonlight, and with great solemnity conducted her to

the room door, where he raised her knuckles to his lips. Having parted

from her with what may be conjectured to have been a rather bony kiss of

a cosmetic flavour, he gave his daughter his blessing, graciously. And

having thus hinted that there was something remarkable in the wind, he

again went to bed.

He remained in the seclusion of his own chamber next morning; but, early

in the afternoon, sent down his best compliments to Mrs General, by Mr

Tinkler, and begged she would accompany Miss Dorrit on an airing

without him. His daughter was dressed for Mrs Merdle's dinner before he

appeared. He then presented himself in a refulgent condition as to his

attire, but looking indefinably shrunken and old. However, as he was

plainly determined to be angry with her if she so much as asked him how

he was, she only ventured to kiss his cheek, before accompanying him to

Mrs Merdle's with an anxious heart.

The distance that they had to go was very short, but he was at his

building work again before the carriage had half traversed it. Mrs

Merdle received him with great distinction; the bosom was in admirable

preservation, and on the best terms with itself; the dinner was very

choice; and the company was very select.

It was principally English; saving that it comprised the usual French

Count and the usual Italian Marchese--decorative social milestones,

always to be found in certain places, and varying very little in

appearance. The table was long, and the dinner was long; and Little

Dorrit, overshadowed by a large pair of black whiskers and a large white

cravat, lost sight of her father altogether, until a servant put a scrap

of paper in her hand, with a whispered request from Mrs Merdle that she

would read it directly. Mrs Merdle had written on it in pencil, 'Pray

come and speak to Mr Dorrit, I doubt if he is well.'

She was hurrying to him, unobserved, when he got up out of his chair,

and leaning over the table called to her, supposing her to be still in

her place:

'Amy, Amy, my child!'

The action was so unusual, to say nothing of his strange eager

appearance and strange eager voice, that it instantaneously caused a

profound silence.

'Amy, my dear,' he repeated. 'Will you go and see if Bob is on the

lock?'

She was at his side, and touching him, but he still perversely supposed

her to be in her seat, and called out, still leaning over the table,

'Amy, Amy. I don't feel quite myself. Ha. I don't know what's the matter

with me. I particularly wish to see Bob. Ha. Of all the turnkeys, he's

as much my friend as yours. See if Bob is in the lodge, and beg him to

come to me.'

All the guests were now in consternation, and everybody rose.

'Dear father, I am not there; I am here, by you.'

'Oh! You are here, Amy! Good. Hum. Good. Ha. Call Bob. If he has been

relieved, and is not on the lock, tell Mrs Bangham to go and fetch him.'

She was gently trying to get him away; but he resisted, and would not

go.

'I tell you, child,' he said petulantly, 'I can't be got up the narrow

stairs without Bob. Ha. Send for Bob. Hum. Send for Bob--best of all the

turnkeys--send for Bob!'

He looked confusedly about him, and, becoming conscious of the number of

faces by which he was surrounded, addressed them:

'Ladies and gentlemen, the duty--ha--devolves upon me of--hum--welcoming

you to the Marshalsea! Welcome to the Marshalsea! The space

is--ha--limited--limited--the parade might be wider; but you will