The time being come for the renewal of his acquaintance with
the Meagles family, Clennam, pursuant to contract made between himself and Mr
Meagles within the precincts of Bleeding Heart Yard, turned his face on a
certain Saturday towards Twickenham, where Mr Meagles had a cottage-residence of
his own. The weather being fine and dry, and any English road abounding in
interest for him who had been so long away, he sent his valise on by the coach,
and set out to walk. A walk was in itself a new enjoyment to him, and one that
had rarely diversified his life afar off.
He went by Fulham and Putney, for the pleasure of strolling over the heath.
It was bright and shining there; and when he found himself so far on his road to
Twickenham, he found himself a long way on his road to a number of airier and
less substantial destinations. They had risen before him fast, in the healthful
exercise and the pleasant road. It is not easy to walk alone in the country
without musing upon something. And he had plenty of unsettled subjects to
meditate upon, though he had been walking to the Land's End.
First, there was the subject seldom absent from his mind, the question, what
he was to do henceforth in life; to what occupation he should devote himself,
and in what direction he had best seek it. He was far from rich, and every day
of indecision and inaction made his inheritance a source of greater anxiety to
him. As often as he began to consider how to increase this inheritance, or to
lay it by, so often his misgiving that there was some one with an unsatisfied
claim upon his justice, returned; and that alone was a subject to outlast the
longest walk. Again, there was the subject of his relations with his mother,
which were now upon an equable and peaceful but never confidential footing, and
whom he saw several times a week. Little Dorrit was a leading and a constant
subject: for the circumstances of his life, united to those of her own story,
presented the little creature to him as the only person between whom and himself
there were ties of innocent reliance on one hand, and affectionate protection on
the other; ties of compassion, respect, unselfish interest, gratitude, and pity.
Thinking of her, and of the possibility of her father's release from prison by
the unbarring hand of death--the only change of circumstance he could foresee
that might enable him to be such a friend to her as he wished to be, by altering
her whole manner of life, smoothing her rough road, and giving her a home--he
regarded her, in that perspective, as his adopted daughter, his poor child of
the Marshalsea hushed to rest. If there were a last subject in his thoughts, and
it lay towards Twickenham, its form was so indefinite that it was little more
than the pervading atmosphere in which these other subjects floated before him.
He had crossed the heath and was leaving it behind when he gained upon a
figure which had been in advance of him for some time, and which, as he gained
upon it, he thought he knew. He derived this impression from something in the
turn of the head, and in the figure's action of consideration, as it went on at
a sufficiently sturdy walk. But when the man--for it was a man's figure--pushed
his hat up at the back of his head, and stopped to consider some object before
him, he knew it to be Daniel Doyce.
'How do you do, Mr Doyce?' said Clennam, overtaking him. 'I am glad to see
you again, and in a healthier place than the Circumlocution Office.'
'Ha! Mr Meagles's friend!' exclaimed that public criminal, coming out of some
mental combinations he had been making, and offering his hand. 'I am glad to see
you, sir. Will you excuse me if I forget your name?'
'Readily. It's not a celebrated name. It's not Barnacle.' 'No, no,' said
Daniel, laughing. 'And now I know what it is. It's Clennam. How do you do, Mr
Clennam?'
'I have some hope,' said Arthur, as they walked on together, 'that we may be
going to the same place, Mr Doyce.'
'Meaning Twickenham?' returned Daniel. 'I am glad to hear it.'
They were soon quite intimate, and lightened the way with a variety of
conversation. The ingenious culprit was a man of great modesty and good sense;
and, though a plain man, had been too much accustomed to combine what was
original and daring in conception with what was patient and minute in execution,
to be by any means an ordinary man. It was at first difficult to lead him to
speak about himself, and he put off Arthur's advances in that direction by
admitting slightly, oh yes, he had done this, and he had done that, and such a
thing was of his making, and such another thing was his discovery, but it was
his trade, you see, his trade; until, as he gradually became assured that his
companion had a real interest in his account of himself, he frankly yielded to
it. Then it appeared that he was the son of a north-country blacksmith, and had
originally been apprenticed by his widowed mother to a lock- maker; that he had
'struck out a few little things' at the lock- maker's, which had led to his
being released from his indentures with a present, which present had enabled him
to gratify his ardent wish to bind himself to a working engineer, under whom he
had laboured hard, learned hard, and lived hard, seven years. His time being
out, he had 'worked in the shop' at weekly wages seven or eight years more; and
had then betaken himself to the banks of the Clyde, where he had studied, and
filed, and hammered, and improved his knowledge, theoretical and practical, for
six or seven years more. There he had had an offer to go to Lyons, which he had
accepted; and from Lyons had been engaged to go to Germany, and in Germany had
had an offer to go to St Petersburg, and there had done very well indeed--never
better. However, he had naturally felt a preference for his own country, and a
wish to gain distinction there, and to do whatever service he could do, there
rather than elsewhere. And so he had come home. And so at home he had
established himself in business, and had invented and executed, and worked his
way on, until, after a dozen years of constant suit and service, he had been
enrolled in the Great British Legion of Honour, the Legion of the Rebuffed of
the Circumlocution Office, and had been decorated with the Great British Order
of Merit, the Order of the Disorder of the Barnacles and Stiltstalkings.
'it is much to be regretted,' said Clennam, 'that you ever turned your
thoughts that way, Mr Doyce.'
'True, sir, true to a certain extent. But what is a man to do? if he has the
misfortune to strike out something serviceable to the nation, he must follow
where it leads him.' 'Hadn't he better let it go?' said Clennam.
'He can't do it,' said Doyce, shaking his head with a thoughtful smile. 'It's
not put into his head to be buried. It's put into his head to be made useful.
You hold your life on the condition that to the last you shall struggle hard for
it. Every man holds a discovery on the same terms.'
'That is to say,' said Arthur, with a growing admiration of his quiet
companion, 'you are not finally discouraged even now?'
'I have no right to be, if I am,' returned the other. 'The thing is as true
as it ever was.'
When they had walked a little way in silence, Clennam, at once to change the
direct point of their conversation and not to change it too abruptly, asked Mr
Doyce if he had any partner in his business to relieve him of a portion of its
anxieties?
'No,' he returned, 'not at present. I had when I first entered on it, and a
good man he was. But he has been dead some years; and as I could not easily take
to the notion of another when I lost him, I bought his share for myself and have
gone on by myself ever since. And here's another thing,' he said, stopping for a
moment with a good-humoured laugh in his eyes, and laying his closed right hand,
with its peculiar suppleness of thumb, on Clennam's arm, 'no inventor can be a
man of business, you know.'
'No?' said Clennam.
'Why, so the men of business say,' he answered, resuming the walk and
laughing outright. 'I don't know why we unfortunate creatures should be supposed
to want common sense, but it is generally taken for granted that we do. Even the
best friend I have in the world, our excellent friend over yonder,' said Doyce,
nodding towards Twickenham, 'extends a sort of protection to me, don't you know,
as a man not quite able to take care of himself?'
Arthur Clennam could not help joining in the good-humoured laugh, for he
recognised the truth of the description.
'So I find that I must have a partner who is a man of business and not guilty
of any inventions,' said Daniel Doyce, taking off his hat to pass his hand over
his forehead, 'if it's only in deference to the current opinion, and to uphold
the credit of the Works. I don't think he'll find that I have been very remiss
or confused in my way of conducting them; but that's for him to say--whoever he
is--not for me.' 'You have not chosen him yet, then?'
'No, sir, no. I have only just come to a decision to take one. The fact is,
there's more to do than there used to be, and the Works are enough for me as I
grow older. What with the books and correspondence, and foreign journeys for
which a Principal is necessary, I can't do all. I am going to talk over the best
way of negotiating the matter, if I find a spare half-hour between this and
Monday morning, with my--my Nurse and protector,' said Doyce, with laughing eyes
again. 'He is a sagacious man in business, and has had a good apprenticeship to
it.'
After this, they conversed on different subjects until they arrived at their
journey's end. A composed and unobtrusive self- sustainment was noticeable in
Daniel Doyce--a calm knowledge that what was true must remain true, in spite of
all the Barnacles in the family ocean, and would be just the truth, and neither
more nor less when even that sea had run dry--which had a kind of greatness in
it, though not of the official quality.
As he knew the house well, he conducted Arthur to it by the way that showed
it to the best advantage. It was a charming place (none the worse for being a
little eccentric), on the road by the river, and just what the residence of the
Meagles family ought to be. It stood in a garden, no doubt as fresh and
beautiful in the May of the Year as Pet now was in the May of her life; and it
was defended by a goodly show of handsome trees and spreading evergreens, as Pet
was by Mr and Mrs Meagles. It was made out of an old brick house, of which a
part had been altogether pulled down, and another part had been changed into the
present cottage; so there was a hale elderly portion, to represent Mr and Mrs
Meagles, and a young picturesque, very pretty portion to represent Pet. There
was even the later addition of a conservatory sheltering itself against it,
uncertain of hue in its deep-stained glass, and in its more transparent portions
flashing to the sun's rays, now like fire and now like harmless water drops;
which might have stood for Tattycoram. Within view was the peaceful river and
the ferry-boat, to moralise to all the inmates saying: Young or old, passionate
or tranquil, chafing or content, you, thus runs the current always. Let the
heart swell into what discord it will, thus plays the rippling water on the prow
of the ferry-boat ever the same tune. Year after year, so much allowance for the
drifting of the boat, so many miles an hour the flowing of the stream, here the
rushes, there the lilies, nothing uncertain or unquiet, upon this road that
steadily runs away; while you, upon your flowing road of time, are so capricious
and distracted.
The bell at the gate had scarcely sounded when Mr Meagles came out to receive
them. Mr Meagles had scarcely come out, when Mrs Meagles came out. Mrs Meagles
had scarcely come out, when Pet came out. Pet scarcely had come out, when
Tattycoram came out. Never had visitors a more hospitable reception.
'Here we are, you see,' said Mr Meagles, 'boxed up, Mr Clennam, within our
own home-limits, as if we were never going to expand-- that is, travel--again.
Not like Marseilles, eh? No allonging and marshonging here!'
'A different kind of beauty, indeed!' said Clennam, looking about him.
'But, Lord bless me!' cried Mr Meagles, rubbing his hands with a relish, 'it
was an uncommonly pleasant thing being in quarantine, wasn't it? Do you know, I
have often wished myself back again? We were a capital party.'
This was Mr Meagles's invariable habit. Always to object to everything while
he was travelling, and always to want to get back to it when he was not
travelling.
'If it was summer-time,' said Mr Meagles, 'which I wish it was on your
account, and in order that you might see the place at its best, you would hardly
be able to hear yourself speak for birds. Being practical people, we never allow
anybody to scare the birds; and the birds, being practical people too, come
about us in myriads. We are delighted to see you, Clennam (if you'll allow me, I
shall drop the Mister); I heartily assure you, we are delighted.'
'I have not had so pleasant a greeting,' said Clennam--then he recalled what
Little Dorrit had said to him in his own room, and faithfully added 'except
once--since we last walked to and fro, looking down at the Mediterranean.'
'Ah!' returned Mr Meagles. 'Something like a look out, that was, wasn't it? I
don't want a military government, but I shouldn't mind a little allonging and
marshonging--just a dash of it--in this neighbourhood sometimes. It's Devilish
still.'
Bestowing this eulogium on the retired character of his retreat with a
dubious shake of the head, Mr Meagles led the way into the house. It was just
large enough, and no more; was as pretty within as it was without, and was
perfectly well-arranged and comfortable.
Some traces of the migratory habits of the family were to be observed in the
covered frames and furniture, and wrapped-up hangings; but it was easy to see
that it was one of Mr Meagles's whims to have the cottage always kept, in their
absence, as if they were always coming back the day after to-morrow. Of articles
collected on his various expeditions, there was such a vast miscellany that it
was like the dwelling of an amiable Corsair. There were antiquities from Central
Italy, made by the best modern houses in that department of industry; bits of
mummy from Egypt (and perhaps Birmingham); model gondolas from Venice; model
villages from Switzerland; morsels of tesselated pavement from Herculaneum and
Pompeii, like petrified minced veal; ashes out of tombs, and lava out of
Vesuvius; Spanish fans, Spezzian straw hats, Moorish slippers, Tuscan hairpins,
Carrara sculpture, Trastaverini scarves, Genoese velvets and filigree,
Neapolitan coral, Roman cameos, Geneva jewellery, Arab lanterns, rosaries blest
all round by the Pope himself, and an infinite variety of lumber. There were
views, like and unlike, of a multitude of places; and there was one little
picture-room devoted to a few of the regular sticky old Saints, with sinews like
whipcord, hair like Neptune's, wrinkles like tattooing, and such coats of
varnish that every holy personage served for a fly-trap, and became what is now
called in the vulgar tongue a Catch-em-alive O. Of these pictorial acquisitions
Mr Meagles spoke in the usual manner. He was no judge, he said, except of what
pleased himself; he had picked them up, dirt-cheap, and people had considered
them rather fine. One man, who at any rate ought to know something of the
subject, had declared that 'Sage, Reading' (a specially oily old gentleman in a
blanket, with a swan's-down tippet for a beard, and a web of cracks all over him
like rich pie-crust), to be a fine Guercino. As for Sebastian del Piombo there,
you would judge for yourself; if it were not his later manner, the question was,
Who was it? Titian, that might or might not be--perhaps he had only touched it.
Daniel Doyce said perhaps he hadn't touched it, but Mr Meagles rather declined
to overhear the remark.
When he had shown all his spoils, Mr Meagles took them into his own snug room
overlooking the lawn, which was fitted up in part like a dressing-room and in
part like an office, and in which, upon a kind of counter-desk, were a pair of
brass scales for weighing gold, and a scoop for shovelling out money.
'Here they are, you see,' said Mr Meagles. 'I stood behind these two articles
five-and-thirty years running, when I no more thought of gadding about than I
now think of--staying at home. When I left the Bank for good, I asked for them,
and brought them away with me.
I mention it at once, or you might suppose that I sit in my counting-house
(as Pet says I do), like the king in the poem of the four-and-twenty blackbirds,
counting out my money.'
Clennam's eyes had strayed to a natural picture on the wall, of two pretty
little girls with their arms entwined. 'Yes, Clennam,' said Mr Meagles, in a
lower voice. 'There they both are. It was taken some seventeen years ago. As I
often say to Mother, they were babies then.'
'Their names?' said Arthur.
'Ah, to be sure! You have never heard any name but Pet. Pet's name is Minnie;
her sister's Lillie.'
'Should you have known, Mr Clennam, that one of them was meant for me?' asked
Pet herself, now standing in the doorway.
'I might have thought that both of them were meant for you, both are still so
like you. Indeed,' said Clennam, glancing from the fair original to the picture
and back, 'I cannot even now say which is not your portrait.' 'D'ye hear that,
Mother?' cried Mr Meagles to his wife, who had followed her daughter. 'It's
always the same, Clennam; nobody can decide. The child to your left is Pet.'
The picture happened to be near a looking-glass. As Arthur looked at it
again, he saw, by the reflection of the mirror, Tattycoram stop in passing
outside the door, listen to what was going on, and pass away with an angry and
contemptuous frown upon her face, that changed its beauty into ugliness.
'But come!' said Mr Meagles. 'You have had a long walk, and will be glad to
get your boots off. As to Daniel here, I suppose he'd never think of taking his
boots off, unless we showed him a boot- jack.'
'Why not?' asked Daniel, with a significant smile at Clennam.
'Oh! You have so many things to think about,' returned Mr Meagles, clapping
him on the shoulder, as if his weakness must not be left to itself on any
account. 'Figures, and wheels, and cogs, and levers, and screws, and cylinders,
and a thousand things.'
'In my calling,' said Daniel, amused, 'the greater usually includes the less.
But never mind, never mind! Whatever pleases you, pleases me.'
Clennam could not help speculating, as he seated himself in his room by the
fire, whether there might be in the breast of this honest, affectionate, and
cordial Mr Meagles, any microscopic portion of the mustard-seed that had sprung
up into the great tree of the Circumlocution Office. His curious sense of a
general superiority to Daniel Doyce, which seemed to be founded, not so much on
anything in Doyce's personal character as on the mere fact of his being an
originator and a man out of the beaten track of other men, suggested the idea.
It might have occupied him until he went down to dinner an hour afterwards, if
he had not had another question to consider, which had been in his mind so long
ago as before he was in quarantine at Marseilles, and which had now returned to
it, and was very urgent with it. No less a question than this: Whether he should
allow himself to fall in love with Pet?
He was twice her age. (He changed the leg he had crossed over the other, and
tried the calculation again, but could not bring out the total at less.) He was
twice her age. Well! He was young in appearance, young in health and strength,
young in heart. A man was certainly not old at forty; and many men were not in
circumstances to marry, or did not marry, until they had attained that time of
life. On the other hand, the question was, not what he thought of the point, but
what she thought of it.
He believed that Mr Meagles was disposed to entertain a ripe regard for him,
and he knew that he had a sincere regard for Mr Meagles and his good wife. He
could foresee that to relinquish this beautiful only child, of whom they were so
fond, to any husband, would be a trial of their love which perhaps they never
yet had had the fortitude to contemplate. But the more beautiful and winning and
charming she, the nearer they must always be to the necessity of approaching it.
And why not in his favour, as well as in another's?
When he had got so far, it came again into his head that the question was,
not what they thought of it, but what she thought of it.
Arthur Clennam was a retiring man, with a sense of many deficiencies; and he
so exalted the merits of the beautiful Minnie in his mind, and depressed his
own, that when he pinned himself to this point, his hopes began to fail him. He
came to the final resolution, as he made himself ready for dinner, that he would
not allow himself to fall in love with Pet.
There were only five, at a round table, and it was very pleasant indeed. They
had so many places and people to recall, and they were all so easy and cheerful
together (Daniel Doyce either sitting out like an amused spectator at cards, or
coming in with some shrewd little experiences of his own, when it happened to be
to the purpose), that they might have been together twenty times, and not have
known so much of one another.
'And Miss Wade,' said Mr Meagles, after they had recalled a number of
fellow-travellers. 'Has anybody seen Miss Wade?'
'I have,' said Tattycoram.
She had brought a little mantle which her young mistress had sent for, and
was bending over her, putting it on, when she lifted up her dark eyes and made
this unexpected answer.
'Tatty!' her young mistress exclaimed. 'You seen Miss Wade?-- where?'
'Here, miss,' said Tattycoram.
'How?'
An impatient glance from Tattycoram seemed, as Clennam saw it, to answer
'With my eyes!' But her only answer in words was: 'I met her near the church.'
'What was she doing there I wonder!' said Mr Meagles. 'Not going to it, I
should think.'
'She had written to me first,' said Tattycoram.
'Oh, Tatty!' murmured her mistress, 'take your hands away. I feel as if some
one else was touching me!'
She said it in a quick involuntary way, but half playfully, and not more
petulantly or disagreeably than a favourite child might have done, who laughed
next moment. Tattycoram set her full red lips together, and crossed her arms
upon her bosom. 'Did you wish to know, sir,' she said, looking at Mr Meagles,
'what Miss Wade wrote to me about?'
'Well, Tattycoram,' returned Mr Meagles, 'since you ask the question, and we
are all friends here, perhaps you may as well mention it, if you are so
inclined.'
'She knew, when we were travelling, where you lived,' said Tattycoram, 'and
she had seen me not quite--not quite--'
'Not quite in a good temper, Tattycoram?' suggested Mr Meagles, shaking his
head at the dark eyes with a quiet caution. 'Take a little time--count
five-and-twenty, Tattycoram.'
She pressed her lips together again, and took a long deep breath.
'So she wrote to me to say that if I ever felt myself hurt,' she looked down
at her young mistress, 'or found myself worried,' she looked down at her again,
'I might go to her, and be considerately treated. I was to think of it, and
could speak to her by the church. So I went there to thank her.'
'Tatty,' said her young mistress, putting her hand up over her shoulder that
the other might take it, 'Miss Wade almost frightened me when we parted, and I
scarcely like to think of her just now as having been so near me without my
knowing it. Tatty dear!'
Tatty stood for a moment, immovable.
'Hey?' cried Mr Meagles. 'Count another five-and-twenty, Tattycoram.'
She might have counted a dozen, when she bent and put her lips to the
caressing hand. It patted her cheek, as it touched the owner's beautiful curls,
and Tattycoram went away.
'Now there,' said Mr Meagles softly, as he gave a turn to the dumb- waiter on
his right hand to twirl the sugar towards himself. 'There's a girl who might be
lost and ruined, if she wasn't among practical people. Mother and I know, solely
from being practical, that there are times when that girl's whole nature seems
to roughen itself against seeing us so bound up in Pet. No father and mother
were bound up in her, poor soul. I don't like to think of the way in which that
unfortunate child, with all that passion and protest in her, feels when she
hears the Fifth Commandment on a Sunday. I am always inclined to call out,
Church, Count five-and-twenty, Tattycoram.'
Besides his dumb-waiter, Mr Meagles had two other not dumb waiters in the
persons of two parlour-maids with rosy faces and bright eyes, who were a highly
ornamental part of the table decoration. 'And why not, you see?' said Mr Meagles
on this head. 'As I always say to Mother, why not have something pretty to look
at, if you have anything at all?' A certain Mrs Tickit, who was Cook and
Housekeeper when the family were at home, and Housekeeper only when the family
were away, completed the establishment. Mr Meagles regretted that the nature of
the duties in which she was engaged, rendered Mrs Tickit unpresentable at
present, but hoped to introduce her to the new visitor to-morrow. She was an
important part of the Cottage, he said, and all his friends knew her. That was
her picture up in the corner. When they went away, she always put on the
silk-gown and the jet-black row of curls represented in that portrait (her hair
was reddish-grey in the kitchen), established herself in the breakfast-room, put
her spectacles between two particular leaves of Doctor Buchan's Domestic
Medicine, and sat looking over the blind all day until they came back again. It
was supposed that no persuasion could be invented which would induce Mrs Tickit
to abandon her post at the blind, however long their absence, or to dispense
with the attendance of Dr Buchan; the lucubrations of which learned
practitioner, Mr Meagles implicitly believed she had never yet consulted to the
extent of one word in her life.
In the evening they played an old-fashioned rubber; and Pet sat looking over
her father's hand, or singing to herself by fits and starts at the piano. She
was a spoilt child; but how could she be otherwise? Who could be much with so
pliable and beautiful a creature, and not yield to her endearing influence? Who
could pass an evening in the house, and not love her for the grace and charm of
her very presence in the room? This was Clennam's reflection, notwithstanding
the final conclusion at which he had arrived up- stairs.
In making it, he revoked. 'Why, what are you thinking of, my good sir?' asked
the astonished Mr Meagles, who was his partner.
'I beg your pardon. Nothing,' returned Clennam.
'Think of something, next time; that's a dear fellow,' said Mr Meagles.
Pet laughingly believed he had been thinking of Miss Wade.
'Why of Miss Wade, Pet?' asked her father.
'Why, indeed!' said Arthur Clennam.
Pet coloured a little, and went to the piano again.
As they broke up for the night, Arthur overheard Doyce ask his host if he
could give him half an hour's conversation before breakfast in the morning? The
host replying willingly, Arthur lingered behind a moment, having his own word to
add to that topic.
'Mr Meagles,' he said, on their being left alone, 'do you remember when you
advised me to go straight to London?'
'Perfectly well.' 'And when you gave me some other good advice which I needed
at that time?'
'I won't say what it was worth,' answered Mr Meagles: 'but of course I
remember our being very pleasant and confidential together.'
'I have acted on your advice; and having disembarrassed myself of an
occupation that was painful to me for many reasons, wish to devote myself and
what means I have, to another pursuit.'
'Right! You can't do it too soon,' said Mr Meagles.
'Now, as I came down to-day, I found that your friend, Mr Doyce, is looking
for a partner in his business--not a partner in his mechanical knowledge, but in
the ways and means of turning the business arising from it to the best account.'
'Just so,' said Mr Meagles, with his hands in his pockets, and with the old
business expression of face that had belonged to the scales and scoop.
'Mr Doyce mentioned incidentally, in the course of our conversation, that he
was going to take your valuable advice on the subject of finding such a partner.
If you should think our views and opportunities at all likely to coincide,
perhaps you will let him know my available position. I speak, of course, in
ignorance of the details, and they may be unsuitable on both sides.'
'No doubt, no doubt,' said Mr Meagles, with the caution belonging to the
scales and scoop.
'But they will be a question of figures and accounts--'
'Just so, just so,' said Mr Meagles, with arithmetical solidity belonging to
the scales and scoop.
'--And I shall be glad to enter into the subject, provided Mr Doyce responds,
and you think well of it. If you will at present, therefore, allow me to place
it in your hands, you will much oblige me.'
'Clennam, I accept the trust with readiness,' said Mr Meagles. 'And without
anticipating any of the points which you, as a man of business, have of course
reserved, I am free to say to you that I think something may come of this. Of
one thing you may be perfectly certain. Daniel is an honest man.'
'I am so sure of it that I have promptly made up my mind to speak to you.'
'You must guide him, you know; you must steer him; you must direct him; he is
one of a crotchety sort,' said Mr Meagles, evidently meaning nothing more than
that he did new things and went new ways; 'but he is as honest as the sun, and
so good night!' Clennam went back to his room, sat down again before his fire,
and made up his mind that he was glad he had resolved not to fall in love with
Pet. She was so beautiful, so amiable, so apt to receive any true impression
given to her gentle nature and her innocent heart, and make the man who should
be so happy as to communicate it, the most fortunate and enviable of all men,
that he was very glad indeed he had come to that conclusion.
But, as this might have been a reason for coming to the opposite conclusion,
he followed out the theme again a little way in his mind; to justify himself,
perhaps.
'Suppose that a man,' so his thoughts ran, 'who had been of age some twenty
years or so; who was a diffident man, from the circumstances of his youth; who
was rather a grave man, from the tenor of his life; who knew himself to be
deficient in many little engaging qualities which he admired in others, from
having been long in a distant region, with nothing softening near him; who had
no kind sisters to present to her; who had no congenial home to make her known
in; who was a stranger in the land; who had not a fortune to compensate, in any
measure, for these defects; who had nothing in his favour but his honest love
and his general wish to do right--suppose such a man were to come to this house,
and were to yield to the captivation of this charming girl, and were to persuade
himself that he could hope to win her; what a weakness it would be!'
He softly opened his window, and looked out upon the serene river. Year after
year so much allowance for the drifting of the ferry- boat, so many miles an
hour the flowing of the stream, here the rushes, there the lilies, nothing
uncertain or unquiet.
Why should he be vexed or sore at heart? It was not his weakness that he had
imagined. It was nobody's, nobody's within his knowledge; why should it trouble
him? And yet it did trouble him. And he thought--who has not thought for a
moment, sometimes?--that it might be better to flow away monotonously, like the
river, and to compound for its insensibility to happiness with its insensibility
to pain.
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