Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens (suggested reading .TXT) 📕

the why his devoted servant had already had the honour to present to him. The very genteel lady⁠—

“Silence!” cried Mr. Dorrit. “Hold your tongue! I will hear no more of the very genteel lady; I will hear no more of you. Look at this family⁠—my family⁠—a family more genteel than any lady. You have treated this family with disrespect; you have been insolent to this family. I’ll ruin you. Ha⁠—send for the horses, pack the carriages, I’ll not set foot in this man’s house again!”

No one had interfered in the dispute, which was beyond the French colloquial powers of Edward Dorrit, Esquire, and scarcely within the province of the ladies. Miss Fanny, however, now supported her father with great bitterness; declaring, in her native tongue, that it was quite clear there was something special in this man’s impertinence; and that she considered it important that he should be, by some means, forced to give up his authority for making distinctions between that family and other wealthy families. What the reasons of his presumption could be, she was at a loss to imagine; but reasons he must have, and they ought to be torn from him.

All the guides, mule-drivers, and idlers in the yard, had made themselves parties to the angry conference, and were much impressed by the courier’s now bestirring himself to get the carriages out. With the aid of some dozen people to each wheel, this was done at a great cost of noise; and then the loading was proceeded with, pending the arrival of the horses from the post-house.

But the very genteel lady’s English chariot being already horsed and at the inn-door, the landlord had slipped upstairs to represent his hard case. This was notified to the yard by his now coming down the staircase in attendance on the gentleman and the lady, and by his pointing out the offended majesty of Mr. Dorrit to them with a significant motion of his hand.

“Beg your pardon,” said the gentleman, detaching himself from the lady, and coming forward. “I am a man of few words and a bad hand at an explanation⁠—but lady here is extremely anxious that there should be no Row. Lady⁠—a mother of mine, in point of fact⁠—wishes me to say that she hopes no Row.”

Mr. Dorrit, still panting under his injury, saluted the gentleman, and saluted the lady, in a distant, final, and invincible manner.

“No, but really⁠—here, old feller; you!” This was the gentleman’s way of appealing to Edward Dorrit, Esquire, on whom he pounced as a great and providential relief. “Let you and I try to make this all right. Lady so very much wishes no Row.”

Edward Dorrit, Esquire, led a little apart by the button, assumed a diplomatic expression of countenance in replying, “Why you must confess, that when you bespeak a lot of rooms beforehand, and they belong to you, it’s not pleasant to find other people in ’em.”

“No,” said the other, “I know it isn’t. I admit it. Still, let you and I try to make it all right, and avoid Row. The fault is not this chap’s at all, but my mother’s. Being a remarkably fine woman with no bigodd nonsense about her⁠—well educated, too⁠—she was too many for this chap. Regularly pocketed him.”

“If that’s the case⁠—” Edward Dorrit, Esquire, began.

“Assure you ’pon my soul ’tis the case. Consequently,” said the other gentleman, retiring on his main position, “why Row?”

“Edmund,” said the lady from the doorway, “I hope you have explained, or are explaining, to the satisfaction of this gentleman and his family that the civil landlord is not to blame?”

“Assure you, ma’am,” returned Edmund, “perfectly paralysing myself with trying it on.” He then looked steadfastly at Edward Dorrit, Esquire, for some seconds, and suddenly added, in a burst of confidence, “Old feller! Is it all right?”

“I don’t know, after all,” said the lady, gracefully advancing a step or two towards Mr. Dorrit, “but that I had better say myself, at once, that I assured this good man I took all the consequences on myself of occupying one of a stranger’s suite of rooms during his absence, for just as much (or as little) time as I could dine in. I had no idea the rightful owner would come back so soon, nor had I any idea that he had come back, or I should have hastened to make restoration of my ill-gotten chamber, and to have offered my explanation and apology. I trust in saying this⁠—”

For a moment the lady, with a glass at her eye, stood transfixed and speechless before the two Miss Dorrits. At the same moment, Miss Fanny, in the foreground of a grand pictorial composition, formed by the family, the family equipages, and the family servants, held her sister tight under one arm to detain her on the spot, and with the other arm fanned herself with a distinguished air, and negligently surveyed the lady from head to foot.

The lady, recovering herself quickly⁠—for it was Mrs. Merdle and she was not easily dashed⁠—went on to add that she trusted in saying this, she apologised for her boldness, and restored this well-behaved landlord to the favour that was so very valuable to him. Mr. Dorrit, on the altar of whose dignity all this was incense, made a gracious reply; and said that his people should⁠—ha⁠—countermand his horses, and he would⁠—hum⁠—overlook what he had at first supposed to be an affront, but now regarded as an honour. Upon this the bosom bent to him; and its owner, with a wonderful command of feature, addressed a winning smile of adieu to the two sisters, as young ladies of fortune in whose favour she was much prepossessed, and whom she had never had the gratification of seeing before.

Not so, however, Mr. Sparkler. This gentleman, becoming transfixed at the same moment as his lady-mother, could not by any means unfix himself again, but stood stiffly staring at the whole composition with Miss Fanny in the foreground. On his mother saying, “Edmund, we are quite ready; will you give