Little Dorrit, Charles Dickens [big ebook reader txt] 📗

but the utmost revenge the bosom took was, to say audibly, “A spoilt beauty⁠—but with that face and shape, who could wonder?”

It might have been about a month or six weeks after the night of the new advice, when Little Dorrit began to think she detected some new understanding between Mr. Sparkler and Fanny. Mr. Sparkler, as if in attendance to some compact, scarcely ever spoke without first looking towards Fanny for leave. That young lady was too discreet ever to look back again; but, if Mr. Sparkler had permission to speak, she remained silent; if he had not, she herself spoke. Moreover, it became plain whenever Henry Gowan attempted to perform the friendly office of drawing him out, that he was not to be drawn. And not only that, but Fanny would presently, without any pointed application in the world, chance to say something with such a sting in it that Gowan would draw back as if he had put his hand into a beehive.

There was yet another circumstance which went a long way to confirm Little Dorrit in her fears, though it was not a great circumstance in itself. Mr. Sparkler’s demeanour towards herself changed. It became fraternal. Sometimes, when she was in the outer circle of assemblies⁠—at their own residence, at Mrs. Merdle’s, or elsewhere⁠—she would find herself stealthily supported round the waist by Mr. Sparkler’s arm. Mr. Sparkler never offered the slightest explanation of this attention; but merely smiled with an air of blundering, contented, good-natured proprietorship, which, in so heavy a gentleman, was ominously expressive.

Little Dorrit was at home one day, thinking about Fanny with a heavy heart. They had a room at one end of their drawing-room suite, nearly all irregular bay-window, projecting over the street, and commanding all the picturesque life and variety of the Corso, both up and down. At three or four o’clock in the afternoon, English time, the view from this window was very bright and peculiar; and Little Dorrit used to sit and muse here, much as she had been used to while away the time in her balcony at Venice. Seated thus one day, she was softly touched on the shoulder, and Fanny said, “Well, Amy dear,” and took her seat at her side. Their seat was a part of the window; when there was anything in the way of a procession going on, they used to have bright draperies hung out of the window, and used to kneel or sit on this seat, and look out at it, leaning on the brilliant colour. But there was no procession that day, and Little Dorrit was rather surprised by Fanny’s being at home at that hour, as she was generally out on horseback then.

“Well, Amy,” said Fanny, “what are you thinking of, little one?”

“I was thinking of you, Fanny.”

“No? What a coincidence! I declare here’s someone else. You were not thinking of this someone else too; were you, Amy?”

Amy had been thinking of this someone else too; for it was Mr. Sparkler. She did not say so, however, as she gave him her hand. Mr. Sparkler came and sat down on the other side of her, and she felt the fraternal railing come behind her, and apparently stretch on to include Fanny.

“Well, my little sister,” said Fanny with a sigh, “I suppose you know what this means?”

“She’s as beautiful as she’s doted on,” stammered Mr. Sparkler⁠—“and there’s no nonsense about her⁠—it’s arranged⁠—”

“You needn’t explain, Edmund,” said Fanny.

“No, my love,” said Mr. Sparkler.

“In short, pet,” proceeded Fanny, “on the whole, we are engaged. We must tell papa about it either tonight or tomorrow, according to the opportunities. Then it’s done, and very little more need be said.”

“My dear Fanny,” said Mr. Sparkler, with deference, “I should like to say a word to Amy.”

“Well, well! Say it for goodness’ sake,” returned the young lady.

“I am convinced, my dear Amy,” said Mr. Sparkler, “that if ever there was a girl, next to your highly endowed and beautiful sister, who had no nonsense about her⁠—”

“We know all about that, Edmund,” interposed Miss Fanny. “Never mind that. Pray go on to something else besides our having no nonsense about us.”

“Yes, my love,” said Mr. Sparkler. “And I assure you, Amy, that nothing can be a greater happiness to myself, myself⁠—next to the happiness of being so highly honoured with the choice of a glorious girl who hasn’t an atom of⁠—”

“Pray, Edmund, pray!” interrupted Fanny, with a slight pat of her pretty foot upon the floor.

“My love, you’re quite right,” said Mr. Sparkler, “and I know I have a habit of it. What I wished to declare was, that nothing can be a greater happiness to myself, myself-next to the happiness of being united to preeminently the most glorious of girls⁠—than to have the happiness of cultivating the affectionate acquaintance of Amy. I may not myself,” said Mr. Sparkler manfully, “be up to the mark on some other subjects at a short notice, and I am aware that if you were to poll Society the general opinion would be that I am not; but on the subject of Amy I am up to the mark!”

Mr. Sparkler kissed her, in witness thereof.

“A knife and fork and an apartment,” proceeded Mr. Sparkler, growing, in comparison with his oratorical antecedents, quite diffuse, “will ever be at Amy’s disposal. My Governor, I am sure, will always be proud to entertain one whom I so much esteem. And regarding my mother,” said Mr. Sparkler, “who is a remarkably fine woman, with⁠—”

“Edmund, Edmund!” cried Miss Fanny, as before.

“With submission, my soul,” pleaded Mr. Sparkler. “I know I have a habit of it, and I thank you very much, my adorable girl, for taking the trouble to correct it; but my mother is admitted on all sides to be a remarkably fine woman, and she really hasn’t any.”

“That may be, or may not be,” returned Fanny, “but pray don’t mention it any more.”

“I will not, my love,” said Mr. Sparkler.

“Then, in fact, you have nothing more to say, Edmund; have you?” inquired Fanny.

“So far from it, my adorable girl,” answered Mr. Sparkler, “I apologise