Bleak House by Charles Dickens (ebook reader that looks like a book TXT) 📕

most afraid of—next to having any family of my own, Esther—as an

inconvenience to Mr. Turveydrop, the kindness of the old gentleman

to that child is beyond everything. He asks to see him, my dear!

He lets him take the newspaper up to him in bed; he gives him the

crusts of his toast to eat; he sends him on little errands about

the house; he tells him to come to me for sixpences. In short,”

said Caddy cheerily, “and not to prose, I am a very fortunate girl

and ought to be very grateful. Where are we going, Esther?”

“To the Old Street Road,” said I, “where I have a few words to say

to the solicitor’s clerk who was sent to meet me at the coach-office on the very day when I came to London and first saw you, my

dear. Now I think of it, the gentleman who brought us to your

house.”

“Then, indeed, I seem to be naturally the person to go with you,”

returned Caddy.

To the Old Street Road we went and there inquired at Mrs. Guppy’s

residence for Mrs. Guppy. Mrs. Guppy, occupying the parlours and

having indeed been visibly in danger of cracking herself like a nut

in the front-parlour door by peeping out before she was asked for,

immediately presented herself and requested us to walk in. She was

an old lady in a large cap, with rather a red nose and rather an

unsteady eye, but smiling all over. Her close little sitting-room

was prepared for a visit, and there was a portrait of her son in it

which, I had almost written here, was more like than life: it

insisted upon him with such obstinacy, and was so determined not to

let him off.

Not only was the portrait there, but we found the original there

too. He was dressed in a great many colours and was discovered at

a table reading law-papers with his forefinger to his forehead.

“Miss Summerson,” said Mr. Guppy, rising, “this is indeed an oasis.

Mother, will you be so good as to put a chair for the other lady

and get out of the gangway.”

Mrs. Guppy, whose incessant smiling gave her quite a waggish

appearance, did as her son requested and then sat down in a corner,

holding her pocket handkerchief to her chest, like a fomentation,

with both hands.

I presented Caddy, and Mr. Guppy said that any friend of mine was

more than welcome. I then proceeded to the object of my visit.

“I took the liberty of sending you a note, sir,” said I.

Mr. Guppy acknowledged the receipt by taking it out of his breast-pocket, putting it to his lips, and returning it to his pocket with

a bow. Mr. Guppy’s mother was so diverted that she rolled her head

as she smiled and made a silent appeal to Caddy with her elbow.

“Could I speak to you alone for a moment?” said I.

Anything like the jocoseness of Mr. Guppy’s mother just now, I

think I never saw. She made no sound of laughter, but she rolled

her head, and shook it, and put her handkerchief to her mouth, and

appealed to Caddy with her elbow, and her hand, and her shoulder,

and was so unspeakably entertained altogether that it was with some

difficulty she could marshal Caddy through the little folding-door

into her bedroom adjoining.

“Miss Summerson,” said Mr. Guppy, “you will excuse the waywardness

of a parent ever mindful of a son’s appiness. My mother, though

highly exasperating to the feelings, is actuated by maternal

dictates.”

I could hardly have believed that anybody could in a moment have

turned so red or changed so much as Mr. Guppy did when I now put up

my veil.

“I asked the favour of seeing you for a few moments here,” said I,

“in preference to calling at Mr. Kenge’s because, remembering what

you said on an occasion when you spoke to me in confidence, I

feared I might otherwise cause you some embarrassment, Mr. Guppy.”

I caused him embarrassment enough as it was, I am sure. I never

saw such faltering, such confusion, such amazement and apprehension.

“Miss Summerson,” stammered Mr. Guppy, “I—I—beg your pardon, but

in our profession—we—we—find it necessary to be explicit. You

have referred to an occasion, miss, when I—when I did myself the

honour of making a declaration which—”

Something seemed to rise in his throat that he could not possibly

swallow. He put his hand there, coughed, made faces, tried again

to swallow it, coughed again, made faces again, looked all round

the room, and fluttered his papers.

“A kind of giddy sensation has come upon me, miss,” he explained,

“which rather knocks me over. I—er—a little subject to this sort

of thing—er—by George!”

I gave him a little time to recover. He consumed it in putting his

hand to his forehead and taking it away again, and in backing his

chair into the corner behind him.

“My intention was to remark, miss,” said Mr. Guppy, “dear me—

something bronchial, I think—hem!—to remark that you was so good

on that occasion as to repel and repudiate that declaration. You—

you wouldn’t perhaps object to admit that? Though no witnesses are

present, it might be a satisfaction to—to your mind—if you was to

put in that admission.”

“There can be no doubt,” said I, “that I declined your proposal

without any reservation or qualification whatever, Mr. Guppy.”

“Thank you, miss,” he returned, measuring the table with his

troubled hands. “So far that’s satisfactory, and it does you

credit. Er—this is certainly bronchial!—must be in the tubes—

er—you wouldn’t perhaps be offended if I was to mention—not that

it’s necessary, for your own good sense or any person’s sense must

show ‘em that—if I was to mention that such declaration on my part

was final, and there terminated?”

“I quite understand that,” said I.

“Perhaps—er—it may not be worth the form, but it might be a

satisfaction to your mind—perhaps you wouldn’t object to admit

that, miss?” said Mr. Guppy.

“I admit it most fully and freely,” said I.

“Thank you,” returned Mr. Guppy. “Very honourable, I am sure. I

regret that my arrangements in life, combined with circumstances

over which I have no control, will put it out of my power ever to

fall back upon that offer or to renew it in any shape or form

whatever, but it will ever be a retrospect entwined—er—with

friendship’s bowers.” Mr. Guppy’s bronchitis came to his relief

and stopped his measurement of the table.

“I may now perhaps mention what I wished to say to you?” I began.

“I shall be honoured, I am sure,” said Mr. Guppy. “I am so

persuaded that your own good sense and right feeling, miss, will—

will keep you as square as possible—that I can have nothing but

pleasure, I am sure, in hearing any observations you may wish to

offer.”

“You were so good as to imply, on that occasion—”

“Excuse me, miss,” said Mr. Guppy, “but we had better not travel

out of the record into implication. I cannot admit that I implied

anything.”

“You said on that occasion,” I recommenced, “that you might

possibly have the means of advancing my interests and promoting my

fortunes by making discoveries of which I should be the subject. I

presume that you founded that belief upon your general knowledge of

my being an orphan girl, indebted for everything to the benevolence

of Mr. Jarndyce. Now, the beginning and the end of what I have

come to beg of you is, Mr. Guppy, that you will have the kindness

to relinquish all idea of so serving me. I have thought of this

sometimes, and I have thought of it most lately—since I have been

ill. At length I have decided, in case you should at any time

recall that purpose and act upon it in any way, to come to you and

assure you that you are altogether mistaken. You could make no

discovery in reference to me that would do me the least service or

give me the least pleasure. I am acquainted with my personal

history, and I have it in my power to assure you that you never can

advance my welfare by such means. You may, perhaps, have abandoned

this project a long time. If so, excuse my giving you unnecessary

trouble. If not, I entreat you, on the assurance I have given you,

henceforth to lay it aside. I beg you to do this, for my peace.”

“I am bound to confess,” said Mr. Guppy, “that you express

yourself, miss, with that good sense and right feeling for which I

gave you credit. Nothing can be more satisfactory than such right

feeling, and if I mistook any intentions on your part just now, I

am prepared to tender a full apology. I should wish to be

understood, miss, as hereby offering that apology—limiting it, as

your own good sense and right feeling will point out the necessity

of, to the present proceedings.”

I must say for Mr. Guppy that the snuffling manner he had had upon

him improved very much. He seemed truly glad to be able to do

something I asked, and he looked ashamed.

“If you will allow me to finish what I have to say at once so that

I may have no occasion to resume,” I went on, seeing him about to

speak, “you will do me a kindness, sir. I come to you as privately

as possible because you announced this impression of yours to me in

a confidence which I have really wished to respect—and which I

always have respected, as you remember. I have mentioned my

illness. There really is no reason why I should hesitate to say

that I know very well that any little delicacy I might have had in

making a request to you is quite removed. Therefore I make the

entreaty I have now preferred, and I hope you will have sufficient

consideration for me to accede to it.”

I must do Mr. Guppy the further justice of saying that he had

looked more and more ashamed and that he looked most ashamed and

very earnest when he now replied with a burning face, “Upon my word

and honour, upon my life, upon my soul, Miss Summerson, as I am a

living man, I’ll act according to your wish! I’ll never go another

step in opposition to it. I’ll take my oath to it if it will be

any satisfaction to you. In what I promise at this present time

touching the matters now in question,” continued Mr. Guppy rapidly,

as if he were repeating a familiar form of words, “I speak the

truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so—”

“I am quite satisfied,” said I, rising at this point, “and I thank

you very much. Caddy, my dear, I am ready!”

Mr. Guppy’s mother returned with Caddy (now making me the recipient

of her silent laughter and her nudges), and we took our leave. Mr.

Guppy saw us to the door with the air of one who was either

imperfectly awake or walking in his sleep; and we left him there,

staring.

But in a minute he came after us down the street without any hat,

and with his long hair all blown about, and stopped us, saying

fervently, “Miss Summerson, upon my honour and soul, you may depend

upon me!”

“I do,” said I, “quite confidently.”

“I beg your pardon, miss,” said Mr. Guppy, going with one leg and

staying with the other, “but this lady being present—your own

witness—it might be a satisfaction