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as she fanned herself, 'and quite charmingly adapted in all respects to

conversation, I should imagine I am audible in any part of it.'

Some moments passed in silence, before Mr Meagles could hold himself in

his chair with sufficient security to prevent his breaking out of it at

the next word he spoke. At last he said: 'Ma'am, I am very unwilling to

revive them, but I must remind you what my opinions and my course were,

all along, on that unfortunate subject.'

'O, my dear sir!' said Mrs Gowan, smiling and shaking her head with

accusatory intelligence, 'they were well understood by me, I assure

you.'

'I never, ma'am,' said Mr Meagles, 'knew unhappiness before that time,

I never knew anxiety before that time. It was a time of such distress to

me that--' That Mr Meagles could really say no more about it, in short,

but passed his handkerchief before his Face.

'I understood the whole affair,' said Mrs Gowan, composedly looking

over her fan. 'As you have appealed to Mr Clennam, I may appeal to Mr

Clennam, too. He knows whether I did or not.'

'I am very unwilling,' said Clennam, looked to by all parties, 'to take

any share in this discussion, more especially because I wish to preserve

the best understanding and the clearest relations with Mr Henry Gowan.

I have very strong reasons indeed, for entertaining that wish. Mrs Gowan

attributed certain views of furthering the marriage to my friend here,

in conversation with me before it took place; and I endeavoured to

undeceive her. I represented that I knew him (as I did and do) to be

strenuously opposed to it, both in opinion and action.'

'You see?' said Mrs Gowan, turning the palms of her hands towards Mr

Meagles, as if she were Justice herself, representing to him that he had

better confess, for he had not a leg to stand on. 'You see? Very good!

Now Papa and Mama Meagles both!' here she rose; 'allow me to take the

liberty of putting an end to this rather formidable controversy. I will

not say another word upon its merits. I will only say that it is an

additional proof of what one knows from all experience; that this kind

of thing never answers--as my poor fellow himself would say, that it

never pays--in one word, that it never does.'

Mr Meagles asked, What kind of thing?

'It is in vain,' said Mrs Gowan, 'for people to attempt to get on

together who have such extremely different antecedents; who are jumbled

against each other in this accidental, matrimonial sort of way; and who

cannot look at the untoward circumstance which has shaken them together

in the same light. It never does.'

Mr Meagles was beginning, 'Permit me to say, ma'am--'

'No, don't,' returned Mrs Gowan. 'Why should you! It is an ascertained

fact. It never does. I will therefore, if you please, go my way, leaving

you to yours. I shall at all times be happy to receive my poor fellow's

pretty wife, and I shall always make a point of being on the most

affectionate terms with her. But as to these terms, semi-family and

semi-stranger, semi-goring and semi-boring, they form a state of things

quite amusing in its impracticability. I assure you it never does.'

The Dowager here made a smiling obeisance, rather to the room than to

any one in it, and therewith took a final farewell of Papa and Mama

Meagles. Clennam stepped forward to hand her to the Pill-Box which was

at the service of all the Pills in Hampton Court Palace; and she got

into that vehicle with distinguished serenity, and was driven away.

Thenceforth the Dowager, with a light and careless humour, often

recounted to her particular acquaintance how, after a hard trial, she

had found it impossible to know those people who belonged to Henry's

wife, and who had made that desperate set to catch him. Whether she had

come to the conclusion beforehand, that to get rid of them would give

her favourite pretence a better air, might save her some occasional

inconvenience, and could risk no loss (the pretty creature being fast

married, and her father devoted to her), was best known to herself.

Though this history has its opinion on that point too, and decidedly in

the affirmative.

CHAPTER 9. Appearance and Disappearance

'Arthur, my dear boy,' said Mr Meagles, on the evening of the following

day, 'Mother and I have been talking this over, and we don't feel

comfortable in remaining as we are. That elegant connection of

ours--that dear lady who was here yesterday--'

'I understand,' said Arthur.

'Even that affable and condescending ornament of society,' pursued Mr

Meagles, 'may misrepresent us, we are afraid. We could bear a great

deal, Arthur, for her sake; but we think we would rather not bear that,

if it was all the same to her.'

'Good,' said Arthur. 'Go on.'

'You see,' proceeded Mr Meagles 'it might put us wrong with our

son-in-law, it might even put us wrong with our daughter, and it might

lead to a great deal of domestic trouble. You see, don't you?'

'Yes, indeed,' returned Arthur, 'there is much reason in what you say.'

He had glanced at Mrs Meagles, who was always on the good and sensible

side; and a petition had shone out of her honest face that he would

support Mr Meagles in his present inclinings.

'So we are very much disposed, are Mother and I,' said Mr Meagles, 'to

pack up bags and baggage and go among the Allongers and Marshongers once

more. I mean, we are very much disposed to be off, strike right through

France into Italy, and see our Pet.'

'And I don't think,' replied Arthur, touched by the motherly

anticipation in the bright face of Mrs Meagles (she must have been very

like her daughter, once), 'that you could do better. And if you ask me

for my advice, it is that you set off to-morrow.'

'Is it really, though?' said Mr Meagles. 'Mother, this is being backed

in an idea!'

Mother, with a look which thanked Clennam in a manner very agreeable to

him, answered that it was indeed.

'The fact is, besides, Arthur,' said Mr Meagles, the old cloud coming

over his face, 'that my son-in-law is already in debt again, and that I

suppose I must clear him again. It may be as well, even on this account,

that I should step over there, and look him up in a friendly way. Then

again, here's Mother foolishly anxious (and yet naturally too) about

Pet's state of health, and that she should not be left to feel lonesome

at the present time. It's undeniably a long way off, Arthur, and a

strange place for the poor love under all the circumstances. Let her be

as well cared for as any lady in that land, still it is a long way off.

just as Home is Home though it's never so Homely, why you see,' said Mr

Meagles, adding a new version to the proverb, 'Rome is Rome, though it's

never so Romely.'

'All perfectly true,' observed Arthur, 'and all sufficient reasons for

going.'

'I am glad you think so; it decides me. Mother, my dear, you may get

ready. We have lost our pleasant interpreter (she spoke three foreign

languages beautifully, Arthur; you have heard her many a time), and you

must pull me through it, Mother, as well as you can.

I require a deal of pulling through, Arthur,' said Mr Meagles, shaking

his head, 'a deal of pulling through. I stick at everything beyond a

noun-substantive--and I stick at him, if he's at all a tight one.'

'Now I think of it,' returned Clennam, 'there's Cavalletto. He shall

go with you, if you like. I could not afford to lose him, but you will

bring him safe back.'

'Well! I am much obliged to you, my boy,' said Mr Meagles, turning it

over, 'but I think not. No, I think I'll be pulled through by Mother.

Cavallooro (I stick at his very name to start with, and it sounds like

the chorus to a comic song) is so necessary to you, that I don't like

the thought of taking him away. More than that, there's no saying when

we may come home again; and it would never do to take him away for

an indefinite time. The cottage is not what it was. It only holds two

little people less than it ever did, Pet, and her poor unfortunate maid

Tattycoram; but it seems empty now. Once out of it, there's no knowing

when we may come back to it. No, Arthur, I'll be pulled through by

Mother.'

They would do best by themselves perhaps, after all, Clennam thought;

therefore did not press his proposal.

'If you would come down and stay here for a change, when it wouldn't

trouble you,' Mr Meagles resumed, 'I should be glad to think--and so

would Mother too, I know--that you were brightening up the old place

with a bit of life it was used to when it was full, and that the Babies

on the wall there had a kind eye upon them sometimes. You so belong to

the spot, and to them, Arthur, and we should every one of us have been

so happy if it had fallen out--but, let us see--how's the weather for

travelling now?' Mr Meagles broke off, cleared his throat, and got up to

look out of the window.

They agreed that the weather was of high promise; and Clennam kept the

talk in that safe direction until it had become easy again, when he

gently diverted it to Henry Gowan and his quick sense and agreeable

qualities when he was delicately dealt With; he likewise dwelt on the

indisputable affection he entertained for his wife. Clennam did not fail

of his effect upon good Mr Meagles, whom these commendations greatly

cheered; and who took Mother to witness that the single and cordial

desire of his heart in reference to their daughter's husband, was

harmoniously to exchange friendship for friendship, and confidence for

confidence. Within a few hours the cottage furniture began to be wrapped

up for preservation in the family absence--or, as Mr Meagles expressed

it, the house began to put its hair in papers--and within a few days

Father and Mother were gone, Mrs Tickit and Dr Buchan were posted, as of

yore, behind the parlour blind, and Arthur's solitary feet were rustling

among the dry fallen leaves in the garden walks.

As he had a liking for the spot, he seldom let a week pass without

paying a visit. Sometimes, he went down alone from Saturday to Monday;

sometimes his partner accompanied him; sometimes, he merely strolled for

an hour or two about the house and garden, saw that all was right, and

returned to London again. At all times, and under all circumstances, Mrs

Tickit, with her dark row of curls, and Dr Buchan, sat in the parlour

window, looking out for the family return.

On one of his visits Mrs Tickit received him with the words, 'I

have something to tell you, Mr Clennam, that will surprise you.' So

surprising was the something in question, that it actually brought Mrs

Tickit out of the parlour window and produced her in the garden walk,

when Clennam went in at the gate on its being opened for him.

'What is it, Mrs Tickit?' said he.

'Sir,' returned that faithful housekeeper, having taken him into the

parlour and closed the door; 'if ever I saw the led away and deluded

child in my life, I saw her identically in the dusk of yesterday

evening.'

'You don't mean Tatty--'

'Coram yes I do!' quoth Mrs Tickit, clearing the disclosure at a leap.

'Where?'

'Mr Clennam,' returned Mrs Tickit, 'I was a little heavy in my eyes,

being that I was waiting longer than customary for my cup of tea which

was then preparing by Mary Jane. I was not sleeping, nor what a person

would term correctly, dozing. I was more what a person would strictly

call watching with my eyes closed.'

Without entering upon an inquiry into this curious abnormal condition,

Clennam said, 'Exactly. Well?'

'Well, sir,' proceeded Mrs Tickit, 'I was thinking of one thing and

thinking of another, just as you yourself might. Just as anybody might.'

'Precisely so,' said Clennam. 'Well?'

'And when I do think of one thing and do think of another,' pursued

Mrs Tickit, 'I hardly need to tell you, Mr Clennam, that I think of the

family. Because, dear me! a person's thoughts,' Mrs Tickit said this

with an argumentative and philosophic air, 'however they may stray, will

go more or less on what is uppermost in their minds. They will do it,

sir, and a person can't prevent them.'

Arthur subscribed to this discovery with a nod.

'You find it so yourself, sir, I'll be bold to say,' said Mrs Tickit,

'and we all find it so. It an't our stations in life that changes us, Mr

Clennam; thoughts is free!--As I was saying, I was thinking of one thing

and thinking of another, and thinking very much of the family. Not of

the family in the present times only, but in the past times too. For

when a person does begin thinking of one thing and thinking of another

in that manner, as it's getting dark, what I say is, that all times

seem to be present, and a person must get out of that state and consider

before they can say which is which.'

He nodded again; afraid to utter a word, lest it should present any new

opening to Mrs Tickit's conversational powers.

'In consequence of which,' said Mrs Tickit, 'when I quivered my eyes and

saw her actual form and figure looking in at the gate, I let them close

again without so much as starting, for that actual form and figure came

so pat to the time when it belonged to the house as much as mine or your

own, that I never thought at the moment of its having gone away. But,

sir, when I quivered my eyes again, and saw that it wasn't there, then

it all flooded upon me with a fright, and I jumped up.'

'You ran out directly?' said Clennam.

'I ran out,' assented Mrs Tickit, 'as fast as ever my feet would carry