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graceful festoons, from Hyde Park Corner to the General Post Office.

Then, amidst a burst of official exultation, would the noble or right

honourable Barnacle sit down, leaving the mutilated fragments of the

Member on the field. No one, after that exemplary demolition of him,

would have the hardihood to hint that the more the Circumlocution Office

did, the less was done, and that the greatest blessing it could confer

on an unhappy public would be to do nothing.

With sufficient occupation on his hands, now that he had this additional

task--such a task had many and many a serviceable man died of before his

day--Arthur Clennam led a life of slight variety. Regular visits to his

mother's dull sick room, and visits scarcely less regular to Mr Meagles

at Twickenham, were its only changes during many months.

He sadly and sorely missed Little Dorrit. He had been prepared to miss

her very much, but not so much. He knew to the full extent only through

experience, what a large place in his life was left blank when her

familiar little figure went out of it. He felt, too, that he must

relinquish the hope of its return, understanding the family character

sufficiently well to be assured that he and she were divided by a broad

ground of separation. The old interest he had had in her, and her old

trusting reliance on him, were tinged with melancholy in his mind: so

soon had change stolen over them, and so soon had they glided into the

past with other secret tendernesses.

When he received her letter he was greatly moved, but did not the less

sensibly feel that she was far divided from him by more than distance.

It helped him to a clearer and keener perception of the place assigned

him by the family. He saw that he was cherished in her grateful

remembrance secretly, and that they resented him with the jail and the

rest of its belongings.

Through all these meditations which every day of his life crowded about

her, he thought of her otherwise in the old way. She was his innocent

friend, his delicate child, his dear Little Dorrit. This very change

of circumstances fitted curiously in with the habit, begun on the night

when the roses floated away, of considering himself as a much older man

than his years really made him. He regarded her from a point of view

which in its remoteness, tender as it was, he little thought would have

been unspeakable agony to her. He speculated about her future destiny,

and about the husband she might have, with an affection for her which

would have drained her heart of its dearest drop of hope, and broken it.

Everything about him tended to confirm him in the custom of looking on

himself as an elderly man, from whom such aspirations as he had combated

in the case of Minnie Gowan (though that was not so long ago either,

reckoning by months and seasons), were finally departed. His relations

with her father and mother were like those on which a widower son-in-law

might have stood. If the twin sister who was dead had lived to pass away

in the bloom of womanhood, and he had been her husband, the nature of

his intercourse with Mr and Mrs Meagles would probably have been just

what it was. This imperceptibly helped to render habitual the impression

within him, that he had done with, and dismissed that part of life.

He invariably heard of Minnie from them, as telling them in her letters

how happy she was, and how she loved her husband; but inseparable from

that subject, he invariably saw the old cloud on Mr Meagles's face. Mr

Meagles had never been quite so radiant since the marriage as before.

He had never quite recovered the separation from Pet. He was the same

good-humoured, open creature; but as if his face, from being much turned

towards the pictures of his two children which could show him only one

look, unconsciously adopted a characteristic from them, it always had

now, through all its changes of expression, a look of loss in it.

One wintry Saturday when Clennam was at the cottage, the Dowager Mrs

Gowan drove up, in the Hampton Court equipage which pretended to be the

exclusive equipage of so many individual proprietors. She descended, in

her shady ambuscade of green fan, to favour Mr and Mrs Meagles with a

call.

'And how do you both do, Papa and Mama Meagles?' said she, encouraging

her humble connections. 'And when did you last hear from or about my

poor fellow?'

My poor fellow was her son; and this mode of speaking of him politely

kept alive, without any offence in the world, the pretence that he had

fallen a victim to the Meagles' wiles.

'And the dear pretty one?' said Mrs Gowan. 'Have you later news of her

than I have?'

Which also delicately implied that her son had been captured by mere

beauty, and under its fascination had forgone all sorts of worldly

advantages.

'I am sure,' said Mrs Gowan, without straining her attention on the

answers she received, 'it's an unspeakable comfort to know they continue

happy. My poor fellow is of such a restless disposition, and has been

so used to roving about, and to being inconstant and popular among all

manner of people, that it's the greatest comfort in life. I suppose

they're as poor as mice, Papa Meagles?'

Mr Meagles, fidgety under the question, replied, 'I hope not, ma'am. I

hope they will manage their little income.'

'Oh! my dearest Meagles!' returned the lady, tapping him on the arm with

the green fan and then adroitly interposing it between a yawn and

the company, 'how can you, as a man of the world and one of the most

business-like of human beings--for you know you are business-like, and a

great deal too much for us who are not--'

(Which went to the former purpose, by making Mr Meagles out to be an

artful schemer.)

'--How can you talk about their managing their little means? My poor

dear fellow! The idea of his managing hundreds! And the sweet pretty

creature too. The notion of her managing! Papa Meagles! Don't!'

'Well, ma'am,' said Mr Meagles, gravely, 'I am sorry to admit, then,

that Henry certainly does anticipate his means.'

'My dear good man--I use no ceremony with you, because we are a kind of

relations;--positively, Mama Meagles,' exclaimed Mrs Gowan cheerfully,

as if the absurd coincidence then flashed upon her for the first time,

'a kind of relations! My dear good man, in this world none of us can

have everything our own way.'

This again went to the former point, and showed Mr Meagles with all good

breeding that, so far, he had been brilliantly successful in his deep

designs. Mrs Gowan thought the hit so good a one, that she dwelt upon

it; repeating 'Not everything. No, no; in this world we must not expect

everything, Papa Meagles.'

'And may I ask, ma'am,' retorted Mr Meagles, a little heightened in

colour, 'who does expect everything?'

'Oh, nobody, nobody!' said Mrs Gowan. 'I was going to say--but you put

me out. You interrupting Papa, what was I going to say?'

Drooping her large green fan, she looked musingly at Mr Meagles while

she thought about it; a performance not tending to the cooling of that

gentleman's rather heated spirits.

'Ah! Yes, to be sure!' said Mrs Gowan. 'You must remember that my poor

fellow has always been accustomed to expectations. They may have been

realised, or they may not have been realised--'

'Let us say, then, may not have been realised,' observed Mr Meagles.

The Dowager for a moment gave him an angry look; but tossed it off with

her head and her fan, and pursued the tenor of her way in her former

manner.

'It makes no difference. My poor fellow has been accustomed to that

sort of thing, and of course you knew it, and were prepared for the

consequences. I myself always clearly foresaw the consequences, and am

not surprised. And you must not be surprised.

In fact, can't be surprised. Must have been prepared for it.'

Mr Meagles looked at his wife and at Clennam; bit his lip; and coughed.

'And now here's my poor fellow,' Mrs Gowan pursued, 'receiving notice

that he is to hold himself in expectation of a baby, and all the

expenses attendant on such an addition to his family! Poor Henry! But

it can't be helped now; it's too late to help it now. Only don't talk of

anticipating means, Papa Meagles, as a discovery; because that would be

too much.'

'Too much, ma'am?' said Mr Meagles, as seeking an explanation.

'There, there!' said Mrs Gowan, putting him in his inferior place with

an expressive action of her hand. 'Too much for my poor fellow's

mother to bear at this time of day. They are fast married, and can't

be unmarried. There, there! I know that! You needn't tell me that, Papa

Meagles. I know it very well. What was it I said just now? That it was

a great comfort they continued happy. It is to be hoped they will still

continue happy. It is to be hoped Pretty One will do everything she

can to make my poor fellow happy, and keep him contented. Papa and Mama

Meagles, we had better say no more about it. We never did look at this

subject from the same side, and we never shall. There, there! Now I am

good.'

Truly, having by this time said everything she could say in maintenance

of her wonderfully mythical position, and in admonition to Mr Meagles

that he must not expect to bear his honours of alliance too cheaply, Mrs

Gowan was disposed to forgo the rest. If Mr Meagles had submitted to

a glance of entreaty from Mrs Meagles, and an expressive gesture from

Clennam, he would have left her in the undisturbed enjoyment of this

state of mind. But Pet was the darling and pride of his heart; and if he

could ever have championed her more devotedly, or loved her better, than

in the days when she was the sunlight of his house, it would have been

now, when, as its daily grace and delight, she was lost to it.

'Mrs Gowan, ma'am,' said Mr Meagles, 'I have been a plain man all my

life. If I was to try--no matter whether on myself, on somebody else,

or both--any genteel mystifications, I should probably not succeed in

them.'

'Papa Meagles,' returned the Dowager, with an affable smile, but with

the bloom on her cheeks standing out a little more vividly than usual as

the neighbouring surface became paler,'probably not.'

'Therefore, my good madam,' said Mr Meagles, at great pains to

restrain himself, 'I hope I may, without offence, ask to have no such

mystification played off upon me.' 'Mama Meagles,' observed Mrs Gowan,

'your good man is incomprehensible.'

Her turning to that worthy lady was an artifice to bring her into the

discussion, quarrel with her, and vanquish her. Mr Meagles interposed to

prevent that consummation.

'Mother,' said he, 'you are inexpert, my dear, and it is not a fair

match. Let me beg of you to remain quiet. Come, Mrs Gowan, come! Let

us try to be sensible; let us try to be good-natured; let us try to

be fair. Don't you pity Henry, and I won't pity Pet. And don't be

one-sided, my dear madam; it's not considerate, it's not kind. Don't

let us say that we hope Pet will make Henry happy, or even that we hope

Henry will make Pet happy,' (Mr Meagles himself did not look happy as he

spoke the words,) 'but let us hope they will make each other happy.'

'Yes, sure, and there leave it, father,' said Mrs Meagles the

kind-hearted and comfortable.

'Why, mother, no,' returned Mr Meagles, 'not exactly there. I can't

quite leave it there; I must say just half-a-dozen words more. Mrs

Gowan, I hope I am not over-sensitive. I believe I don't look it.'

'Indeed you do not,' said Mrs Gowan, shaking her head and the great

green fan together, for emphasis.

'Thank you, ma'am; that's well. Notwithstanding which, I feel a

little--I don't want to use a strong word--now shall I say hurt?'

asked Mr Meagles at once with frankness and moderation, and with a

conciliatory appeal in his tone.

'Say what you like,' answered Mrs Gowan. 'It is perfectly indifferent to

me.'

'No, no, don't say that,' urged Mr Meagles, 'because that's not

responding amiably. I feel a little hurt when I hear references made to

consequences having been foreseen, and to its being too late now, and so

forth.'

'Do you, Papa Meagles?' said Mrs Gowan. 'I am not surprised.'

'Well, ma'am,' reasoned Mr Meagles, 'I was in hopes you would have been

at least surprised, because to hurt me wilfully on so tender a subject

is surely not generous.' 'I am not responsible,' said Mrs Gowan, 'for

your conscience, you know.'

Poor Mr Meagles looked aghast with astonishment.

'If I am unluckily obliged to carry a cap about with me, which is yours

and fits you,' pursued Mrs Gowan, 'don't blame me for its pattern, Papa

Meagles, I beg!' 'Why, good Lord, ma'am!' Mr Meagles broke out, 'that's

as much as to state--'

'Now, Papa Meagles, Papa Meagles,' said Mrs Gowan, who became extremely

deliberate and prepossessing in manner whenever that gentleman became at

all warm, 'perhaps to prevent confusion, I had better speak for myself

than trouble your kindness to speak for me.

It's as much as to state, you begin. If you please, I will finish the

sentence. It is as much as to state--not that I wish to press it or even

recall it, for it is of no use now, and my only wish is to make the

best of existing circumstances--that from the first to the last I always

objected to this match of yours, and at a very late period yielded a

most unwilling consent to it.'

'Mother!' cried Mr Meagles. 'Do you hear this! Arthur! Do you hear

this!'

'The room being of a convenient size,' said Mrs Gowan, looking about