"Now you know, Caddy," her mother mildly interposed, "that I DO employ a boy, who is now at his dinner. What is the use of your contradicting?"
"I was not going to contradict, Ma," returned Caddy. "I was only going to say that surely you wouldn't have me be a mere drudge all my life."
"I believe, my dear," said Mrs. Jellyby, still opening her letters, casting her bright eyes smilingly over them, and sorting them as she spoke, "that you have a business example before you in your mother. Besides. A mere drudge? If you had any sympathy with the destinies of the human race, it would raise you high above any such idea. But you have none. I have often told you, Caddy, you have no such sympathy."

"Ma," returned Caddy, "surely you wouldn't have me be a mere drudge all my life."
"I believe, my dear," said Mrs. Jellyby, still opening her letters, "that you have a business example before you in your mother. A mere drudge? If you had any sympathy with the destinies of the human race, it would raise you high above any such idea. But you have no such sympathy."


"Not if it's Africa, Ma, I have not."
"Of course you have not. Now, if I were not happily so much engaged, Miss Summerson," said Mrs. Jellyby, sweetly casting her eyes for a moment on me and considering where to put the particular letter she had just opened, "this would distress and disappoint me. But I have so much to think of, in connexion with Borrioboola-Gha and it is so necessary I should concentrate myself that there is my remedy, you see."
As Caddy gave me a glance of entreaty, and as Mrs. Jellyby was looking far away into Africa straight through my bonnet and head, I thought it a good opportunity to come to the subject of my visit and to attract Mrs. Jellyby's attention.
"Perhaps," I began, "you will wonder what has brought me here to interrupt you."
"I am always delighted to see Miss Summerson," said Mrs. Jellyby, pursuing her employment with a placid smile. "Though I wish," and she shook her head, "she was more interested in the Borrioboolan project."
"I have come with Caddy," said I, "because Caddy justly thinks she ought not to have a secret from her mother and fancies I shall encourage and aid her (though I am sure I don't know how) in imparting one."
"Caddy," said Mrs. Jellyby, pausing for a moment in her occupation and then serenely pursuing it after shaking her head, "you are going to tell me some nonsense."

"Not if it's Africa, Ma, I have not."
"Of course you have not. Now, if I were not happily so much engaged, Miss Summerson," said Mrs. Jellyby, "this would distress and disappoint me. But I have so much to think of in connexion with Borrioboola-Gha that there is my remedy, you see."
Caddy gave me a glance of entreaty, and I thought it a good opportunity to come to the subject of my visit.
"Perhaps," I began, "you will wonder what has brought me here."
"I am always delighted to see Miss Summerson," said Mrs. Jellyby, sorting letters with a placid smile.
"I have come with Caddy," said I, "because Caddy justly thinks she ought not to have a secret from her mother and fancies I shall aid her in imparting one."
"Caddy," said Mrs. Jellyby, pausing for a moment to shake her head, "you are going to tell me some nonsense."


Caddy untied the strings of her bonnet, took her bonnet off, and letting it dangle on the floor by the strings, and crying heartily, said, "Ma, I am engaged."
"Oh, you ridiculous child!" observed Mrs. Jellyby with an abstracted air as she looked over the dispatch last opened; "what a goose you are!"
"I am engaged, Ma," sobbed Caddy, "to young Mr. Turveydrop, at the academy; and old Mr. Turveydrop (who is a very gentlemanly man indeed) has given his consent, and I beg and pray you'll give us yours, Ma, because I never could be happy without it. I never, never could!" sobbed Caddy, quite forgetful of her general complainings and of everything but her natural affection.
"You see again, Miss Summerson," observed Mrs. Jellyby serenely, "what a happiness it is to be so much occupied as I am and to have this necessity for self-concentration that I have. Here is Caddy engaged to a dancing-master's son--mixed up with people who have no more sympathy with the destinies of the human race than she has herself! This, too, when Mr. Quale, one of the first philanthropists of our time, has mentioned to me that he was really disposed to be interested in her!"

Caddy took her bonnet off, and crying, said, "Ma, I am engaged."
"Oh, you ridiculous child!" observed Mrs. Jellyby with an abstracted air as she looked over the letter last opened; "what a goose you are!"
"I am engaged, Ma," sobbed Caddy, "to young Mr. Turveydrop, at the academy; and old Mr. Turveydrop (who is a very gentlemanly man) has given his consent, and I beg and pray you'll give us yours, Ma, because I never could be happy without it!"
"You see again, Miss Summerson," observed Mrs. Jellyby serenely, "what a happiness it is to be so much occupied as I am. Here is Caddy engaged to a dancing-master's son - mixed up with people who have no more sympathy with the destinies of the human race than she has herself! This, too, when Mr. Quale, one of the first philanthropists of our time, has mentioned to me that he might be interested in her!"


"Ma, I always hated and detested Mr. Quale!" sobbed Caddy.


"Caddy, Caddy!" returned Mrs. Jellyby, opening another letter with the greatest complacency. "I have no doubt you did. How could you do otherwise, being totally destitute of the sympathies with which he overflows! Now, if my public duties were not a favourite child to me, if I were not occupied with large measures on a vast scale, these petty details might grieve me very much, Miss Summerson. But can I permit the film of a silly proceeding on the part of Caddy (from whom I expect nothing else) to interpose between me and the great African continent? No. No," repeated Mrs. Jellyby in a calm clear voice, and with an agreeable smile, as she opened more letters and sorted them. "No, indeed."

"Caddy, Caddy!" returned Mrs. Jellyby. "I have no doubt you did. How could you do otherwise, being totally destitute of his sympathies! Now, if I were not occupied with public duties, these petty details might grieve me very much, Miss Summerson. But can I permit a silly proceeding on the part of Caddy (from whom I expect nothing else) to come between me and the great African continent? No. No," repeated Mrs. Jellyby calmly, as she opened more letters. "No, indeed."


I was so unprepared for the perfect coolness of this reception, though I might have expected it, that I did not know what to say. Caddy seemed equally at a loss. Mrs. Jellyby continued to open and sort letters and to repeat occasionally in quite a charming tone of voice and with a smile of perfect composure, "No, indeed."
"I hope, Ma," sobbed poor Caddy at last, "you are not angry?"
"Oh, Caddy, you really are an absurd girl," returned Mrs. Jellyby, "to ask such questions after what I have said of the preoccupation of my mind."
"And I hope, Ma, you give us your consent and wish us well?" said Caddy.
"You are a nonsensical child to have done anything of this kind," said Mrs. Jellyby; "and a degenerate child, when you might have devoted yourself to the great public measure. But the step is taken, and I have engaged a boy, and there is no more to be said. Now, pray, Caddy," said Mrs. Jellyby, for Caddy was kissing her, "don't delay me in my work, but let me clear off this heavy batch of papers before the afternoon post comes in!"

I was so unprepared for the perfect coolness of this reception that I did not know what to say. Poor Caddy seemed equally at a loss.
"I hope, Ma," she sobbed at last, "you are not angry?"
"Oh, Caddy, you really are an absurd girl," returned Mrs. Jellyby, "to ask such questions after what I have said."
"And I hope, Ma, you give us your consent and wish us well?" said Caddy.
"You are a nonsensical child to have done anything of this kind," said Mrs. Jellyby. "But the step is taken, and I have engaged a boy, and there is no more to be said. Now, pray, Caddy," for Caddy was kissing her, "don't delay me in my work, but let me clear off this batch of papers before the afternoon post comes in!"


I thought I could not do better than take my leave; I was detained for a moment by Caddy's saying, "You won't object to my bringing him to see you, Ma?"
"Oh, dear me, Caddy," cried Mrs. Jellyby, who had relapsed into that distant contemplation, "have you begun again? Bring whom?"
"Him, Ma."


"Caddy, Caddy!" said Mrs. Jellyby, quite weary of such little matters. "Then you must bring him some evening which is not a Parent Society night, or a Branch night, or a Ramification night. You must accommodate the visit to the demands upon my time. My dear Miss Summerson, it was very kind of you to come here to help out this silly chit. Good-bye! When I tell you that I have fifty-eight new letters from manufacturing families anxious to understand the details of the native and coffee-cultivation question this morning, I need not apologize for having very little leisure."

"Caddy, Caddy!" said Mrs. Jellyby, quite weary of such little matters. "You must bring him some evening which is not a Parent Society night, or a Branch night. My dear Miss Summerson, it was very kind of you to come here to help out this silly girl. Good-bye!"


I was not surprised by Caddy's being in low spirits when we went downstairs, or by her sobbing afresh on my neck, or by her saying she would far rather have been scolded than treated with such indifference, or by her confiding to me that she was so poor in clothes that how she was ever to be married creditably she didn't know. I gradually cheered her up by dwelling on the many things she would do for her unfortunate father and for Peepy when she had a home of her own; and finally we went downstairs into the damp dark kitchen, where Peepy and his little brothers and sisters were grovelling on the stone floor and where we had such a game of play with them that to prevent myself from being quite torn to pieces I was obliged to fall back on my fairy-tales. From time to time I heard loud voices in the parlour overhead, and occasionally a violent tumbling about of the furniture. The last effect I am afraid was caused by poor Mr. Jellyby's breaking away from the dining-table and making rushes at the window with the intention of throwing himself into the area whenever he made any new attempt to understand his affairs.
As I rode quietly home at night after the day's bustle, I thought a good deal of Caddy's engagement and felt confirmed in my hopes (in spite of the elder Mr. Turveydrop) that she would be the happier and better for it. And if there seemed to be but a slender chance of her and her husband ever finding out what the model of deportment really was, why that was all for the best too, and who would wish them to be wiser? I did not wish them to be any wiser and indeed was half ashamed of not entirely believing in him myself. And I looked up at the stars, and thought about travellers in distant countries and the stars THEY saw, and hoped I might always be so blest and happy as to be useful to some one in my small way.
They were so glad to see me when I got home, as they always were, that I could have sat down and cried for joy if that had not been a method of making myself disagreeable. Everybody in the house, from the lowest to the highest, showed me such a bright face of welcome, and spoke so cheerily, and was so happy to do anything for me, that I suppose there never was such a fortunate little creature in the world.

I was not surprised by Caddy's being in low spirits when we went downstairs, or by her sobbing afresh on my neck, saying she would rather have been scolded than treated with such indifference, or by her confiding that she was so poor in clothes that how she was to be married creditably she didn't know. I gradually cheered her up by dwelling on the many things she would do for her unfortunate father and for Peepy when she had a home of her own; and finally we went downstairs into the damp dark kitchen, where Peepy and his little brothers and sisters were grovelling on the stone floor and where we had a play and some fairy-tales.
From time to time I heard loud voices in the parlour overhead, and occasionally a violent tumbling about of the furniture. The last effect I am afraid was caused by poor Mr. Jellyby's breaking away from the dining-table and making rushes at the window with the intention of throwing himself out whenever he made any new attempt to understand his affairs.
As I rode quietly home after the day's bustle, I thought a good deal of Caddy's engagement and felt confirmed in my hopes (in spite of the elder Mr. Turveydrop) that she would be the happier and better for it. And if there was only a slender chance of her and her husband ever finding out what the model of deportment really was, that was all for the best too, and who would wish them to be wiser? Indeed I was half ashamed of not entirely believing in him myself. And I looked up at the stars, and hoped I might always be so blest as to be useful to some one in my small way.
They were so glad to see me when I got home, as they always were, that I could have sat down and cried for joy if that would not have made me disagreeable. Everybody in the house showed me such a bright face of welcome, and spoke so cheerily, that I suppose there never was such a fortunate creature in the world.


We got into such a chatty state that night, through Ada and my guardian drawing me out to tell them all about Caddy, that I went on prose, prose, prosing for a length of time. At last I got up to my own room, quite red to think how I had been holding forth, and then I heard a soft tap at my door. So I said, "Come in!" and there came in a pretty little girl, neatly dressed in mourning, who dropped a curtsy.
"If you please, miss," said the little girl in a soft voice, "I am Charley."
"Why, so you are," said I, stooping down in astonishment and giving her a kiss. "How glad am I to see you, Charley!"
"If you please, miss," pursued Charley in the same soft voice, "I'm your maid."
"Charley?"
"If you please, miss, I'm a present to you, with Mr. Jarndyce's love."

That night Ada and my guardian asked me to tell them all about Caddy, so that I went on prosing for a long time. At last I went to my own room, quite red to think how I had been holding forth, and then I heard a soft tap at my door.
I said, "Come in!" and there came in a pretty little girl, neatly dressed in mourning, who dropped a curtsy.
"If you please, miss," said the little girl in a soft voice, "I am Charley."
"Why, so you are," said I, stooping down in astonishment and giving her a kiss. "How glad am I to see you, Charley!"
"If you please, miss, I'm your maid."
"Charley?"
"I'm a present to you, with Mr. Jarndyce's love.


I sat down with my hand on Charley's neck and looked at Charley.
"And oh, miss," says Charley, clapping her hands, with the tears starting down her dimpled cheeks, "Tom's at school, if you please, and learning so good! And little Emma, she's with Mrs. Blinder, miss, a-being took such care of! And Tom, he would have been at school--and Emma, she would have been left with Mrs. Blinder--and me, I should have been here--all a deal sooner, miss; only Mr. Jarndyce thought that Tom and Emma and me had better get a little used to parting first, we was so small. Don't cry, if you please, miss!"
"I can't help it, Charley."
"No, miss, nor I can't help it," says Charley. "And if you please, miss, Mr. Jarndyce's love, and he thinks you'll like to teach me now and then. And if you please, Tom and Emma and me is to see each other once a month. And I'm so happy and so thankful, miss," cried Charley with a heaving heart, "and I'll try to be such a good maid!"

And oh, miss," says Charley, clapping her hands, with the tears starting down her cheeks, "Tom's at school, if you please, and learning so good! And little Emma, she's with Mrs. Blinder, miss, a-being took such care of! And they would have been there sooner, miss; only Mr. Jarndyce thought that we had better get used to parting first, we was so small. Don't cry, please, miss!"
"I can't help it, Charley."
"No, miss, nor I can't help it," says Charley. "And if you please, miss, Mr. Jarndyce's love, and he thinks you'll like to teach me now and then. And Tom and Emma and me is to see each other once a month. And I'm so happy and thankful, miss," cried Charley, "and I'll try to be such a good maid!"


"Oh, Charley dear, never forget who did all this!"
"No, miss, I never will. Nor Tom won't. Nor yet Emma. It was all you, miss."
"I have known nothing of it. It was Mr. Jarndyce, Charley."
"Yes, miss, but it was all done for the love of you and that you might be my mistress. If you please, miss, I am a little present with his love, and it was all done for the love of you. Me and Tom was to be sure to remember it."

"Oh, Charley dear, never forget who did all this!"
"No, miss, I never will. It was all you, miss."
"I have known nothing of it. It was Mr. Jarndyce, Charley."
"Yes, miss, but it was all done for the love of you. If you please, miss, I am a little present with his love, and it was all done for the love of you. Me and Tom was to be sure to remember it."


Charley dried her eyes and entered on her functions, going in her matronly little way about and about the room and folding up everything she could lay her hands upon. Presently Charley came creeping back to my side and said, "Oh, don't cry, if you please, miss."
And I said again, "I can't help it, Charley."
And Charley said again, "No, miss, nor I can't help it." And so, after all, I did cry for joy indeed, and so did she.

Charley dried her eyes and went about the room in her matronly little way, folding up everything she could lay her hands upon. Presently she came creeping back to my side and said, "Oh, don't cry, please, miss."
And I said again, "I can't help it, Charley."
And Charley said again, "No, miss, nor I can't help it." And so, after all, I did cry for joy indeed, and so did she.


When our time came for returning to Bleak House again, we were punctual to the day and were received with an overpowering welcome. I was perfectly restored to health and strength, and finding my housekeeping keys laid ready for me in my room, rang myself in as if I had been a new year, with a merry little peal. "Once more, duty, duty, Esther," said I; "and if you are not overjoyed to do it, more than cheerfully and contentedly, through anything and everything, you ought to be. That's all I have to say to you, my dear!"
The first few mornings were mornings of so much bustle and business, devoted to such settlements of accounts, such repeated journeys to and fro between the growlery and all other parts of the house, so many rearrangements of drawers and presses, and such a general new beginning altogether, that I had not a moment's leisure. But when these arrangements were completed and everything was in order, I paid a visit of a few hours to London, which something in the letter I had destroyed at Chesney Wold had induced me to decide upon in my own mind.
I made Caddy Jellyby--her maiden name was so natural to me that I always called her by it--the pretext for this visit and wrote her a note previously asking the favour of her company on a little business expedition. Leaving home very early in the morning, I got to London by stage-coach in such good time that I got to Newman Street with the day before me.
Caddy, who had not seen me since her wedding-day, was so glad and so affectionate that I was half inclined to fear I should make her husband jealous. But he was, in his way, just as bad--I mean as good; and in short it was the old story, and nobody would leave me any possibility of doing anything meritorious.

When we returned to Bleak House, we were received with an overpowering welcome. I was perfectly restored to health, and finding my housekeeping keys laid ready for me in my room, rang myself in with a merry little peal.
"Once more, duty, Esther," said I; "and if you are not overjoyed to do it cheerfully and contentedly, you ought to be!"
The first few mornings involved so much bustle and business, settlements of accounts, repeated journeys to the growlery and rearrangements of cupboards, that I had not a moment's leisure. But when everything was in order, I paid a short visit to London - a visit which something in the letter I had destroyed at Chesney Wold induced me to take.
I made Caddy the pretext for this visit and wrote her a note asking the favour of her company on a little business expedition. Leaving home very early, I got to London by stage-coach in good time.
Caddy, who had not seen me since her wedding-day, was so glad and so affectionate that I was half inclined to fear I should make her husband jealous. But he was just as good to me.


The elder Mr. Turveydrop was in bed, I found, and Caddy was milling his chocolate, which a melancholy little boy who was an apprentice--it seemed such a curious thing to be apprenticed to the trade of dancing--was waiting to carry upstairs. Her father-in-law was extremely kind and considerate, Caddy told me, and they lived most happily together. (When she spoke of their living together, she meant that the old gentleman had all the good things and all the good lodging, while she and her husband had what they could get, and were poked into two corner rooms over the Mews.)
"And how is your mama, Caddy?" said I.
"Why, I hear of her, Esther," replied Caddy, "through Pa, but I see very little of her. We are good friends, I am glad to say, but Ma thinks there is something absurd in my having married a dancing-master, and she is rather afraid of its extending to her."
It struck me that if Mrs. Jellyby had discharged her own natural duties and obligations before she swept the horizon with a telescope in search of others, she would have taken the best precautions against becoming absurd, but I need scarcely observe that I kept this to myself.
"And your papa, Caddy?"
"He comes here every evening," returned Caddy, "and is so fond of sitting in the corner there that it's a treat to see him."

The elder Mr. Turveydrop was in bed, I found, and Caddy was mixing his chocolate, which a melancholy little apprentice-boy - it seemed curious to be apprenticed to the trade of dancing - was waiting to carry upstairs. Her father-in-law was extremely kind and considerate, Caddy told me, and they lived most happily together. (In other words, the old gentleman had all the good things and the good lodging, while she and her husband were poked into two corner rooms over the Mews.)
"And how is your mama, Caddy?" said I.
"Why, I hear of her, Esther," replied Caddy, "through Pa, but I see very little of her. We are good friends, I am glad to say, but Ma thinks there is something absurd in my having married a dancing-master, and she is afraid of its extending to her."
It struck me that if Mrs. Jellyby had discharged her own natural duties before she swept the horizon with a telescope in search of others, she would have taken the best precautions against becoming absurd; but I kept this to myself.
"And your papa, Caddy?"
"He comes here every evening, and is so fond of sitting in the corner there that it's a treat to see him."


Looking at the corner, I plainly perceived the mark of Mr. Jellyby's head against the wall. It was consolatory to know that he had found such a resting-place for it.
"And you, Caddy," said I, "you are always busy, I'll be bound?"
"Well, my dear," returned Caddy, "I am indeed, for to tell you a grand secret, I am qualifying myself to give lessons. Prince's health is not strong, and I want to be able to assist him. What with schools, and classes here, and private pupils, AND the apprentices, he really has too much to do, poor fellow!"
The notion of the apprentices was still so odd to me that I asked Caddy if there were many of them.

"And you, Caddy," said I, "you are always busy, I'll be bound?"
"I am indeed," returned Caddy, "for I am qualifying myself to give lessons. Prince's health is not strong, and I want to assist him. What with schools, and classes, and private pupils, and the apprentices, he really has too much to do, poor fellow!"
I asked Caddy if there were many apprentices.


"Four," said Caddy. "One in-door, and three out. They are very good children; only when they get together they WILL play--children-like--instead of attending to their work. So the little boy you saw just now waltzes by himself in the empty kitchen, and we distribute the others over the house as well as we can."
"That is only for their steps, of course?" said I.
"Only for their steps," said Caddy. "In that way they practise, so many hours at a time, whatever steps they happen to be upon. They dance in the academy, and at this time of year we do figures at five every morning."

"Four," said Caddy. "They are very good children; only when they get together they will play instead of attending to their work. So the little boy you saw just now waltzes by himself in the kitchen, and we distribute the others over the house to practise their steps.


"Why, what a laborious life!" I exclaimed.
"I assure you, my dear," returned Caddy, smiling, "when the out-door apprentices ring us up in the morning (the bell rings into our room, not to disturb old Mr. Turveydrop), and when I put up the window and see them standing on the door-step with their little pumps under their arms, I am actually reminded of the Sweeps."
All this presented the art to me in a singular light, to be sure. Caddy enjoyed the effect of her communication and cheerfully recounted the particulars of her own studies.


"You see, my dear, to save expense I ought to know something of the piano, and I ought to know something of the kit too, and consequently I have to practise those two instruments as well as the details of our profession. If Ma had been like anybody else, I might have had some little musical knowledge to begin upon. However, I hadn't any; and that part of the work is, at first, a little discouraging, I must allow. But I have a very good ear, and I am used to drudgery--I have to thank Ma for that, at all events--and where there's a will there's a way, you know, Esther, the world over." Saying these words, Caddy laughingly sat down at a little jingling square piano and really rattled off a quadrille with great spirit. Then she good-humouredly and blushingly got up again, and while she still laughed herself, said, "Don't laugh at me, please; that's a dear girl!"
I would sooner have cried, but I did neither. I encouraged her and praised her with all my heart. For I conscientiously believed, dancing-master's wife though she was, and dancing-mistress though in her limited ambition she aspired to be, she had struck out a natural, wholesome, loving course of industry and perseverance that was quite as good as a mission.

To save expense," she continued, "I am learning the piano, and the kit. If Ma had been like anybody else, I might have had some musical knowledge. However, I have a good ear, and I am used to drudgery - I have to thank Ma for that, at all events - and where there's a will there's a way, you know."
With this, Caddy laughingly sat down at a little jingling square piano and rattled off a quadrille with great spirit. Then she blushingly said, "Don't laugh at me, please; that's a dear girl!"
I would sooner have cried, but I did neither. I praised her with all my heart. For limited though her ambitions were, she had struck out a natural, wholesome, loving course of industry that was quite as good as a mission.


"My dear," said Caddy, delighted, "you can't think how you cheer me. I shall owe you, you don't know how much. What changes, Esther, even in my small world! You recollect that first night, when I was so unpolite and inky? Who would have thought, then, of my ever teaching people to dance, of all other possibilities and impossibilities!"
Her husband, who had left us while we had this chat, now coming back, preparatory to exercising the apprentices in the ball-room, Caddy informed me she was quite at my disposal. But it was not my time yet, I was glad to tell her, for I should have been vexed to take her away then. Therefore we three adjourned to the apprentices together, and I made one in the dance.

"My dear," said Caddy, delighted, "you can't think how you cheer me. I owe you, you don't know how much. You recollect that first night, when I was so unpolite and inky? Who would have thought, then, of my ever teaching people to dance!"
Before we went out, we saw the apprentices at work.


The apprentices were the queerest little people. Besides the melancholy boy, who, I hoped, had not been made so by waltzing alone in the empty kitchen, there were two other boys and one dirty little limp girl in a gauzy dress. Such a precocious little girl, with such a dowdy bonnet on (that, too, of a gauzy texture), who brought her sandalled shoes in an old threadbare velvet reticule. Such mean little boys, when they were not dancing, with string, and marbles, and cramp-bones in their pockets, and the most untidy legs and feet--and heels particularly.
I asked Caddy what had made their parents choose this profession for them. Caddy said she didn't know; perhaps they were designed for teachers, perhaps for the stage. They were all people in humble circumstances, and the melancholy boy's mother kept a ginger-beer shop.

They were the queerest little people. Besides the melancholy boy, there were two other boys and one dirty little limp girl in a gauzy dress. Such a precocious little girl, with a dowdy bonnet, who brought her shoes in an old threadbare velvet reticule; such shabby little boys, with string and marbles in their pockets, and the most untidy legs and feet.
I asked Caddy what had made their parents choose this profession for them. Caddy said she didn't know; perhaps they were designed for teachers, perhaps for the stage. They were all people in humble circumstances, and the melancholy boy's mother kept a ginger-beer shop.


We danced for an hour with great gravity, the melancholy child doing wonders with his lower extremities, in which there appeared to be some sense of enjoyment though it never rose above his waist. Caddy, while she was observant of her husband and was evidently founded upon him, had acquired a grace and self-possession of her own, which, united to her pretty face and figure, was uncommonly agreeable. She already relieved him of much of the instruction of these young people, and he seldom interfered except to walk his part in the figure if he had anything to do in it. He always played the tune. The affectation of the gauzy child, and her condescension to the boys, was a sight. And thus we danced an hour by the clock.

We danced for an hour with great gravity, the melancholy child doing wonders with his lower half, in which there appeared to be some enjoyment though it never rose above his waist. Caddy had acquired an agreeable grace and self-possession of her own, while her husband played the music. The affectation of the gauzy child, and her condescension to the boys, was a sight.


When the practice was concluded, Caddy's husband made himself ready to go out of town to a school, and Caddy ran away to get ready to go out with me. I sat in the ball-room in the interval, contemplating the apprentices. The two out-door boys went upon the staircase to put on their half-boots and pull the in-door boy's hair, as I judged from the nature of his objections. Returning with their jackets buttoned and their pumps stuck in them, they then produced packets of cold bread and meat and bivouacked under a painted lyre on the wall. The little gauzy child, having whisked her sandals into the reticule and put on a trodden-down pair of shoes, shook her head into the dowdy bonnet at one shake, and answering my inquiry whether she liked dancing by replying, "Not with boys," tied it across her chin, and went home contemptuous.
"Old Mr. Turveydrop is so sorry," said Caddy, "that he has not finished dressing yet and cannot have the pleasure of seeing you before you go. You are such a favourite of his, Esther."
I expressed myself much obliged to him, but did not think it necessary to add that I readily dispensed with this attention.

When the practice was finished, Caddy's husband got ready to go out of town to a school, and Caddy got ready to go out with me.
"Old Mr. Turveydrop is so sorry," she said, "that he has not finished dressing yet and cannot have the pleasure of seeing you before you go. You are such a favourite of his, Esther.


"It takes him a long time to dress," said Caddy, "because he is very much looked up to in such things, you know, and has a reputation to support. You can't think how kind he is to Pa. He talks to Pa of an evening about the Prince Regent, and I never saw Pa so interested."
There was something in the picture of Mr. Turveydrop bestowing his deportment on Mr. Jellyby that quite took my fancy. I asked Caddy if he brought her papa out much.
"No," said Caddy, "I don't know that he does that, but he talks to Pa, and Pa greatly admires him, and listens, and likes it. Of course I am aware that Pa has hardly any claims to deportment, but they get on together delightfully. You can't think what good companions they make. I never saw Pa take snuff before in my life, but he takes one pinch out of Mr. Turveydrop's box regularly and keeps putting it to his nose and taking it away again all the evening."
That old Mr. Turveydrop should ever, in the chances and changes of life, have come to the rescue of Mr. Jellyby from Borrioboola-Gha appeared to me to be one of the pleasantest of oddities.

It takes him a long time to dress because he has a reputation to support. You can't think how kind he is to Pa. He talks to him of an evening about the Prince Regent, and I never saw Pa so interested."
I asked Caddy if he induced her papa to talk much.
"No," said Caddy, "but Pa greatly admires him, and listens, and likes it. Of course I am aware that Pa has hardly any claims to deportment, but they get on together delightfully. I never saw Pa take snuff before, but he takes one pinch out of Mr. Turveydrop's box regularly and keeps putting it to his nose and taking it away again all evening."
That old Mr. Turveydrop should have come to the rescue of Mr. Jellyby appeared to me to be one of the pleasantest of oddities.


"As to Peepy," said Caddy with a little hesitation, "whom I was 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.

"As to Peepy," said Caddy with a little hesitation, "whom I was most afraid of as an inconvenience to Mr. Turveydrop - next to having any family of my own, Esther - the kindness of the old gentleman is beyond everything. He asks to see him, my dear! He lets Peepy 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, "I am a very fortunate girl. 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 met me at the coach-office on the very day when I came to London and first saw you, my dear."


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.

To the Old Street Road we went, to Mrs. Guppy's residence. Mrs. Guppy was an old lady in a large cap, with rather a red nose and an unsteady eye, but smiling all over. Her close little sitting-room was prepared for a visit, and her son was sitting at a table reading law-papers with his forefinger to his forehead.
"Miss Summerson," said Mr. Guppy, rising, "this is indeed an oasis. Mother, be so good as to put a chair for the other lady."
Mrs. Guppy, smiling incessantly, did as her son requested and then sat down in a corner.


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.

"I took the liberty of sending you a note, sir," said I.
Mr. Guppy acknowledged this by taking it out of his breast-pocket, putting it to his lips, and returning it to his pocket with a bow. His 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.
At this Mrs. Guppy rolled her head, and shook it, and put her handkerchief to her mouth, and was so unspeakably entertained altogether that it was with some difficulty that she could marshal Caddy into the adjoining room.


"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.

"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 now put up my veil. I could hardly have believed that anybody could in a moment have turned so red or changed so much as Mr. Guppy did.
"I asked the favour of seeing you for a few moments here," said I, "in preference to calling at Mr. Kenge's, because I feared I might otherwise cause you some embarrassment, Mr. Guppy."
I caused him embarrassment enough as it was. I never saw such faltering and confusion.
"Miss Summerson," stammered Mr. Guppy, "I - I beg your pardon, but in our profession we - we find it necessary to be explicit. There was an occasion, miss, when I - when I made a declaration which-"
Something seemed to rise in his throat that he could not swallow. He coughed, made faces, looked all round the room, coughed some more, 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."

"A giddy sensation has come upon me, miss," he explained, "which rather knocks me over. I - er - by George! I - I think, miss - dear me, something bronchial - er - I think you was so good on that occasion as to repel that declaration. You - you wouldn't perhaps object to admitting that?"
"There can be no doubt," said I, "that I declined your proposal without any reservation, 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, miss," he returned. "Er - perhaps you wouldn't perhaps be offended if I was to mention - not that it's necessary - but if I was to mention that such declaration on my part was terminated?"
"I quite understand that," said I. "I admit it fully and freely."


"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--"

"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 renew that offer, but it will ever be a retrospect entwined - er - with friendship's bowers."
"I may now perhaps mention what I wished to say to you?"
"I shall be honoured, I am sure," said Mr. Guppy.
"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."

"You said on that occasion," I recommenced, "that you might possibly have the means of advancing my interests by making discoveries about me, as an orphan girl, indebted for everything to the benevolence of Mr. Jarndyce. Now, I have come to beg you, Mr. Guppy, to have the kindness to relinquish all idea of so serving me. I have thought of this since I have been ill. I have decided, in case you should at any time recall that purpose, to come to you and assure you that you could make no discovery about me that would do me the least service or give me the least pleasure. I am acquainted with my personal history, and I can tell you that you never can advance my welfare by such means. I beg you to lay this project aside, 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 am bound to confess," said Mr. Guppy, "that you express yourself, miss, with good sense and right feeling. If I mistook any intentions on your part just now, I apologise."
"If you will allow me to finish what I have to say," I went on, "you will do me a kindness, sir. I come to you privately because you spoke to me about the matter in a confidence which I have really wished to respect. I hope you will agree to my entreaty."


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 must do Mr. Guppy the justice of saying that he looked ashamed and very earnest when he replied with a burning face, "Upon my word and honour, Miss Summerson, I'll act according to your wish! I'll take my oath to it if you like. In what I promise touching the matters now in question," he continued rapidly, "I speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so-"
"I am quite satisfied," said I, rising, "and I thank you very much. Caddy, my dear, I am ready!"
Mr. Guppy's mother returned with Caddy, and we took our leave. Mr. Guppy saw us to the door with the air of a sleep-walker; and we left him there, staring.
But in a minute he came after us down the street without any hat, 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 to your mind (which I should wish to set at rest) if you was to repeat those admissions."
"Well, Caddy," said I, turning to her, "perhaps you will not be surprised when I tell you, my dear, that there never has been any engagement--"
"No proposal or promise of marriage whatsoever," suggested Mr. Guppy.
"No proposal or promise of marriage whatsoever," said I, "between this gentleman--"
"William Guppy, of Penton Place, Pentonville, in the county of Middlesex," he murmured.
"Between this gentleman, Mr. William Guppy, of Penton Place, Pentonville, in the county of Middlesex, and myself."
"Thank you, miss," said Mr. Guppy. "Very full--er--excuse me--lady's name, Christian and surname both?"
I gave them.

"I beg your pardon, miss," said Mr. Guppy, "but this lady being present - your own witness - it might be a satisfaction to your mind (which I should wish to set at rest) if you was to repeat those admissions."
"Well, Caddy," said I, turning to her, "perhaps you will not be surprised when I tell you, my dear, that there never has been any engagement-"
"No promise of marriage whatsoever," suggested Mr. Guppy.
"No promise of marriage whatsoever," said I, "between this gentleman-"
"William Guppy, of Penton Place, Pentonville."
"Between this gentleman, Mr. William Guppy, of Penton Place, Pentonville, and myself."
"Thank you, miss," said Mr. Guppy. "Er - excuse me - lady's name?"
I gave it.


"Married woman, I believe?" said Mr. Guppy. "Married woman. Thank you. Formerly Caroline Jellyby, spinster, then of Thavies Inn, within the city of London, but extra-parochial; now of Newman Street, Oxford Street. Much obliged."
He ran home and came running back again.
"Touching that matter, you know, I really and truly am very sorry that my arrangements in life, combined with circumstances over which I have no control, should prevent a renewal of what was wholly terminated some time back," said Mr. Guppy to me forlornly and despondently, "but it couldn't be. Now COULD it, you know! I only put it to you."

"Thank you. Much obliged."
He ran home and came running back again.
"Touching that matter, you know, I really and truly am very sorry that circumstances over which I have no control should prevent a renewal of what was terminated some time back," said Mr. Guppy forlornly and despondently, "but it couldn't be."


I replied it certainly could not. The subject did not admit of a doubt. He thanked me and ran to his mother's again--and back again.
"It's very honourable of you, miss, I am sure," said Mr. Guppy. "If an altar could be erected in the bowers of friendship--but, upon my soul, you may rely upon me in every respect save and except the tender passion only!"
The struggle in Mr. Guppy's breast and the numerous oscillations it occasioned him between his mother's door and us were sufficiently conspicuous in the windy street (particularly as his hair wanted cutting) to make us hurry away. I did so with a lightened heart; but when we last looked back, Mr. Guppy was still oscillating in the same troubled state of mind.

I replied it certainly could not. The subject did not admit of a doubt. He thanked me and ran to his mother's - and back again.
"It's very honourable of you, miss," said Mr. Guppy. "Upon my soul, you may rely upon me in every respect save and except the tender passion only!"
The struggle in Mr. Guppy's breast and the oscillations it occasioned him between his mother's door and us were sufficiently conspicuous to make us hurry away. I did so with a lightened heart; but when we last looked back, Mr. Guppy was still oscillating in the same troubled state of mind.


Richard left us on the very next evening to begin his new career, and committed Ada to my charge with great love for her and great trust in me. It touched me then to reflect, and it touches me now, more nearly, to remember (having what I have to tell) how they both thought of me, even at that engrossing time. I was a part of all their plans, for the present and the future. I was to write Richard once a week, making my faithful report of Ada, who was to write to him every alternate day. I was to be informed, under his own hand, of all his labours and successes; I was to observe how resolute and persevering he would be; I was to be Ada's bridesmaid when they were married; I was to live with them afterwards; I was to keep all the keys of their house; I was to be made happy for ever and a day.
"And if the suit SHOULD make us rich, Esther--which it may, you know!" said Richard to crown all.
A shade crossed Ada's face.
"My dearest Ada," asked Richard, "why not?"
"It had better declare us poor at once," said Ada.

Richard left us on the very next evening to begin his new career, and committed Ada to my charge with great love for her and great trust in me. It touched me to reflect how they both thought of me, even at that engrossing time. I was a part of all their plans. I was to write to Richard once a week, making my faithful report of Ada, who was to write to him every alternate day. He would tell me all his labours and successes; I was to observe how resolute and persevering he would be; I was to be Ada's bridesmaid when they were married; I was to live with them afterwards and keep the keys of their house; I was to be made happy for ever.
"And if the lawsuit should make us rich, Esther - which it may, you know!" said Richard.
A shade crossed Ada's face.
"My dearest Ada," asked Richard, "why not?"
"It had better declare us poor at once," said Ada.


"Oh! I don't know about that," returned Richard, "but at all events, it won't declare anything at once. It hasn't declared anything in heaven knows how many years."
"Too true," said Ada.
"Yes, but," urged Richard, answering what her look suggested rather than her words, "the longer it goes on, dear cousin, the nearer it must be to a settlement one way or other. Now, is not that reasonable?"
"You know best, Richard. But I am afraid if we trust to it, it will make us unhappy."

"Oh! I don't know about that," returned Richard, "but at all events, it won't declare anything at once. It hasn't declared anything in years."
"Too true," said Ada.
"But the longer it goes on, the nearer it must be to a settlement one way or other. Is not that reasonable?"
"You know best, Richard. But I am afraid if we trust to it, it will make us unhappy."


"But, my Ada, we are not going to trust to it!" cried Richard gaily. "We know it better than to trust to it. We only say that if it SHOULD make us rich, we have no constitutional objection to being rich. The court is, by solemn settlement of law, our grim old guardian, and we are to suppose that what it gives us (when it gives us anything) is our right. It is not necessary to quarrel with our right."
"No," said Ada, "but it may be better to forget all about it."
"Well, well," cried Richard, "then we will forget all about it! We consign the whole thing to oblivion. Dame Durden puts on her approving face, and it's done!"

"My Ada, we are not going to trust to it!" cried Richard gaily. "We know better than that. We only say that if it should make us rich, we have no objection. The court is our grim old guardian, and whatever it gives us is our right. It is not necessary to quarrel with our right."
"No," said Ada, "but it may be better to forget all about it."
"Well, well," cried Richard, "then we will forget all about it! Dame Durden puts on her approving face, and it's done!"


"Dame Durden's approving face," said I, looking out of the box in which I was packing his books, "was not very visible when you called it by that name; but it does approve, and she thinks you can't do better."
So, Richard said there was an end of it, and immediately began, on no other foundation, to build as many castles in the air as would man the Great Wall of China. He went away in high spirits. Ada and I, prepared to miss him very much, commenced our quieter career.
On our arrival in London, we had called with Mr. Jarndyce at Mrs. Jellyby's but had not been so fortunate as to find her at home. It appeared that she had gone somewhere to a tea-drinking and had taken Miss Jellyby with her. Besides the tea-drinking, there was to be some considerable speech-making and letter-writing on the general merits of the cultivation of coffee, conjointly with natives, at the Settlement of Borrioboola-Gha. All this involved, no doubt, sufficient active exercise of pen and ink to make her daughter's part in the proceedings anything but a holiday.

"Dame Durden does approve," said I, "and she thinks you can't do better."
So, Richard said there was an end of it, and immediately began to build as many castles in the air as would man the Great Wall of China. He went away in high spirits. Ada and I, prepared to miss him very much, commenced our quieter career.
On our arrival in London, we had called at Mrs. Jellyby's but had not found her at home.


It being now beyond the time appointed for Mrs. Jellyby's return, we called again. She was in town, but not at home, having gone to Mile End directly after breakfast on some Borrioboolan business, arising out of a society called the East London Branch Aid Ramification. As I had not seen Peepy on the occasion of our last call (when he was not to be found anywhere, and when the cook rather thought he must have strolled away with the dustman's cart), I now inquired for him again. The oyster shells he had been building a house with were still in the passage, but he was nowhere discoverable, and the cook supposed that he had "gone after the sheep." When we repeated, with some surprise, "The sheep?" she said, Oh, yes, on market days he sometimes followed them quite out of town and came back in such a state as never was!

Now we called again. She was not in, having gone to Mile End directly after breakfast on some Borrioboolan business. As I had not seen Peepy on our last call, I now inquired for him. He was nowhere to be found, and the cook supposed that he had "gone after the sheep." When we repeated, with surprise, "The sheep?" she said, Oh, yes, on market days he sometimes followed them quite out of town and came back in such a state as never was!


I was sitting at the window with my guardian on the following morning, and Ada was busy writing--of course to Richard--when Miss Jellyby was announced, and entered, leading the identical Peepy, whom she had made some endeavours to render presentable by wiping the dirt into corners of his face and hands and making his hair very wet and then violently frizzling it with her fingers. Everything the dear child wore was either too large for him or too small. Among his other contradictory decorations he had the hat of a bishop and the little gloves of a baby. His boots were, on a small scale, the boots of a ploughman, while his legs, so crossed and recrossed with scratches that they looked like maps, were bare below a very short pair of plaid drawers finished off with two frills of perfectly different patterns. The deficient buttons on his plaid frock had evidently been supplied from one of Mr. Jellyby's coats, they were so extremely brazen and so much too large. Most extraordinary specimens of needlework appeared on several parts of his dress, where it had been hastily mended, and I recognized the same hand on Miss Jellyby's. She was, however, unaccountably improved in her appearance and looked very pretty. She was conscious of poor little Peepy being but a failure after all her trouble, and she showed it as she came in by the way in which she glanced first at him and then at us.

I was sitting at the window with my guardian on the following morning, and Ada was busy writing to Richard - when Miss Jellyby was announced, and entered, leading the same Peepy, whom she had tried to make presentable by wiping the dirt into the corners of his face and making his hair very wet. Everything the dear child wore was either too large for him or too small. He had the hat of a bishop and the little gloves of a baby. His boots were like small ploughman's boots, below a very short pair of plaid drawers finished off with two different frills. Extraordinary specimens of needlework appeared on several parts of his dress, where it had been hastily mended, and I recognized the same hand on Miss Jellyby's.
She was, however, unaccountably improved in her appearance and looked very pretty. But she was conscious of poor little Peepy being a failure after all her trouble, and she showed it by the way in which she glanced first at him and then at us.


"Oh, dear me!" said my guardian. "Due east!"
Ada and I gave her a cordial welcome and presented her to Mr. Jarndyce, to whom she said as she sat down, "Ma's compliments, and she hopes you'll excuse her, because she's correcting proofs of the plan. She's going to put out five thousand new circulars, and she knows you'll be interested to hear that. I have brought one of them with me. Ma's compliments." With which she presented it sulkily enough.

"Oh, dear me!" said my guardian. "Due east!"
Ada and I gave her a cordial welcome and presented her to Mr. Jarndyce.
"Ma's compliments," she said, "and she hopes you'll excuse her, because she's correcting proofs. She's going to put out five thousand new circulars. I have brought one of them with me. Ma's compliments." She presented it sulkily.


"Thank you," said my guardian. "I am much obliged to Mrs. Jellyby. Oh, dear me! This is a very trying wind!"
We were busy with Peepy, taking off his clerical hat, asking him if he remembered us, and so on. Peepy retired behind his elbow at first, but relented at the sight of sponge-cake and allowed me to take him on my lap, where he sat munching quietly. Mr. Jarndyce then withdrawing into the temporary growlery, Miss Jellyby opened a conversation with her usual abruptness.

"Thank you," said my guardian. "I am much obliged to Mrs. Jellyby. Oh, dear me! This is a very trying wind!"
We asked Peepy if he remembered us. He retired behind his elbow at first, but relented at the sight of sponge-cake and allowed me to take him on my lap, where he sat quietly munching. Mr. Jarndyce then withdrawing, Miss Jellyby opened a conversation abruptly.


"We are going on just as bad as ever in Thavies Inn," said she. "I have no peace of my life. Talk of Africa! I couldn't be worse off if I was a what's-his-name--man and a brother!"
I tried to say something soothing.
"Oh, it's of no use, Miss Summerson," exclaimed Miss Jellyby, "though I thank you for the kind intention all the same. I know how I am used, and I am not to be talked over. YOU wouldn't be talked over if you were used so. Peepy, go and play at Wild Beasts under the piano!"

"We are going on just as bad as ever," said she. "I have no peace. Talk of Africa! I couldn't be worse off if I was a what's-his-name!"
I tried to say something soothing.
"Oh, it's of no use, Miss Summerson," exclaimed Miss Jellyby, "though I thank you all the same. I know how I am used. Peepy, go and play at Wild Beasts under the piano!"


"I shan't!" said Peepy.
"Very well, you ungrateful, naughty, hard-hearted boy!" returned Miss Jellyby with tears in her eyes. "I'll never take pains to dress you any more."
"Yes, I will go, Caddy!" cried Peepy, who was really a good child and who was so moved by his sister's vexation that he went at once.

"I shan't!" said Peepy.
"Very well, you ungrateful, naughty boy!" returned Miss Jellyby with tears in her eyes. "I'll never take pains to dress you any more."
"Yes, I will go, Caddy!" cried Peepy, so moved by his sister's vexation that he went at once.


"It seems a little thing to cry about," said poor Miss Jellyby apologetically, "but I am quite worn out. I was directing the new circulars till two this morning. I detest the whole thing so that that alone makes my head ache till I can't see out of my eyes. And look at that poor unfortunate child! Was there ever such a fright as he is!"
Peepy, happily unconscious of the defects in his appearance, sat on the carpet behind one of the legs of the piano, looking calmly out of his den at us while he ate his cake.

"It seems a little thing to cry about," said poor Miss Jellyby apologetically, "but I am quite worn out. I was addressing the new circulars till two this morning. The whole thing makes my head ache till I can't see. And look at that poor unfortunate child! Was there ever such a fright as he is!"
Peepy, happily unconscious of the defects in his appearance, sat behind one of the legs of the piano, eating his cake.


"I have sent him to the other end of the room," observed Miss Jellyby, drawing her chair nearer ours, "because I don't want him to hear the conversation. Those little things are so sharp! I was going to say, we really are going on worse than ever. Pa will be a bankrupt before long, and then I hope Ma will be satisfied. There'll he nobody but Ma to thank for it."
We said we hoped Mr. Jellyby's affairs were not in so bad a state as that.

"I have sent him over there," said Miss Jellyby, "because I don't want him to hear what I say. We really are going on worse than ever. Pa will be a bankrupt before long, and then I hope Ma will be satisfied. There'll be nobody but Ma to thank for it."
We said we hoped Mr. Jellyby's affairs were not in so bad a state as that.


"It's of no use hoping, though it's very kind of you," returned Miss Jellyby, shaking her head. "Pa told me only yesterday morning (and dreadfully unhappy he is) that he couldn't weather the storm. I should be surprised if he could. When all our tradesmen send into our house any stuff they like, and the servants do what they like with it, and I have no time to improve things if I knew how, and Ma don't care about anything, I should like to make out how Pa is to weather the storm. I declare if I was Pa, I'd run away."
"My dear!" said I, smiling. "Your papa, no doubt, considers his family."

"It's of no use hoping, though it's very kind of you," returned Miss Jellyby, shaking her head. "Pa told me only yesterday morning (and dreadfully unhappy he is) that he couldn't weather the storm. I have no time to improve things if I knew how, and Ma don't care about anything. I declare if I was Pa, I'd run away."
"My dear!" said I, smiling. "Your papa, no doubt, considers his family."


"Oh, yes, his family is all very fine, Miss Summerson," replied Miss Jellyby; "but what comfort is his family to him? His family is nothing but bills, dirt, waste, noise, tumbles downstairs, confusion, and wretchedness. His scrambling home, from week's end to week's end, is like one great washing-day--only nothing's washed!"
Miss Jellyby tapped her foot upon the floor and wiped her eyes.
"I am sure I pity Pa to that degree," she said, "and am so angry with Ma that I can't find words to express myself! However, I am not going to bear it, I am determined. I won't be a slave all my life, and I won't submit to be proposed to by Mr. Quale. A pretty thing, indeed, to marry a philanthropist. As if I hadn't had enough of THAT!" said poor Miss Jellyby.

"Oh, yes, his family is all very fine, Miss Summerson," replied Miss Jellyby; "but what comfort is his family to him? His family is nothing but bills, dirt, waste, noise, tumbles downstairs, confusion, and wretchedness. It's like one great washing-day - only nothing's washed!"
Miss Jellyby wiped her eyes.
"I am sure I pity Pa so much," she said, "and am so angry with Ma that I can't find words to express myself! However, I am not going to bear it. I won't be a slave all my life, and I won't submit to be proposed to by Mr. Quale. A pretty thing, indeed, to marry a philanthropist. As if I hadn't had enough of that!" said poor Miss Jellyby.


I must confess that I could not help feeling rather angry with Mrs. Jellyby myself, seeing and hearing this neglected girl and knowing how much of bitterly satirical truth there was in what she said.
"If it wasn't that we had been intimate when you stopped at our house," pursued Miss Jellyby, "I should have been ashamed to come here to-day, for I know what a figure I must seem to you two. But as it is, I made up my mind to call, especially as I am not likely to see you again the next time you come to town."
She said this with such great significance that Ada and I glanced at one another, foreseeing something more.
"No!" said Miss Jellyby, shaking her head. "Not at all likely! I know I may trust you two. I am sure you won't betray me. I am engaged."

I must confess that I could not help feeling rather angry with Mrs. Jellyby myself, seeing and hearing this neglected girl.
"I was almost ashamed to come here today, for I know what a figure I must seem to you two. But I made up my mind to call, as I am not likely to see you again the next time you come to town."
She said this with such great significance that Ada and I glanced at one another, foreseeing something more.
"I know I may trust you two," said Miss Jellyby. "You won't betray me. I am engaged."


"Without their knowledge at home?" said I.
"Why, good gracious me, Miss Summerson," she returned, justifying herself in a fretful but not angry manner, "how can it be otherwise? You know what Ma is--and I needn't make poor Pa more miserable by telling HIM."
"But would it not be adding to his unhappiness to marry without his knowledge or consent, my dear?" said I.
"No," said Miss Jellyby, softening. "I hope not. I should try to make him happy and comfortable when he came to see me, and Peepy and the others should take it in turns to come and stay with me, and they should have some care taken of them then."

"Without their knowledge at home?" said I.
"Why, Miss Summerson," she returned fretfully, "how can it be otherwise? You know what Ma is - and I needn't make poor Pa more miserable by telling him."
"But would it not be adding to his unhappiness to marry without his knowledge, my dear?" said I.
"No," said Miss Jellyby, softening. "I hope not. I should try to make him happy and comfortable when he came to see me, and Peepy and the others should take it in turns to come and stay with me, and have some care taken of them."


There was a good deal of affection in poor Caddy. She softened more and more while saying this and cried so much over the unwonted little home-picture she had raised in her mind that Peepy, in his cave under the piano, was touched, and turned himself over on his back with loud lamentations. It was not until I had brought him to kiss his sister, and had restored him to his place on my lap, and had shown him that Caddy was laughing (she laughed expressly for the purpose), that we could recall his peace of mind; even then it was for some time conditional on his taking us in turns by the chin and smoothing our faces all over with his hand. At last, as his spirits were not equal to the piano, we put him on a chair to look out of window; and Miss Jellyby, holding him by one leg, resumed her confidence.
"It began in your coming to our house," she said.
We naturally asked how.
"I felt I was so awkward," she replied, "that I made up my mind to be improved in that respect at all events and to learn to dance. I told Ma I was ashamed of myself, and I must be taught to dance. Ma looked at me in that provoking way of hers as if I wasn't in sight, but I was quite determined to be taught to dance, and so I went to Mr. Turveydrop's Academy in Newman Street."
"And was it there, my dear--" I began.

There was a good deal of affection in poor Caddy. She cried so much over the little home-picture she had imagined that Peepy, in his cave under the piano, was touched, and lay on his back with loud lamentations. It was not until I had brought him to kiss his sister, and had shown him that Caddy was laughing (she laughed expressly for the purpose), that we could quieten him; even then he took us in turns by the chin, smoothing our faces all over with his hand. At last we put him on a chair to look out of a window; and Miss Jellyby, holding him by one leg, resumed.
"It began in your coming to our house," she said. "I felt I was so awkward then, that I made up my mind to be improved. I told Ma I was ashamed of myself, and I must be taught to dance. Ma looked at me in that provoking way of hers as if I wasn't in sight, but I was quite determined to be taught to dance, and so I went to Mr. Turveydrop's Academy in Newman Street."
"And was it there, my dear-" I began.


"Yes, it was there," said Caddy, "and I am engaged to Mr. Turveydrop. There are two Mr. Turveydrops, father and son. My Mr. Turveydrop is the son, of course. I only wish I had been better brought up and was likely to make him a better wife, for I am very fond of him."
"I am sorry to hear this," said I, "I must confess."
"I don't know why you should be sorry," she retorted a little anxiously, "but I am engaged to Mr. Turveydrop, whether or no, and he is very fond of me. It's a secret as yet, even on his side, because old Mr. Turveydrop has a share in the connexion and it might break his heart or give him some other shock if he was told of it abruptly. Old Mr. Turveydrop is a very gentlemanly man indeed--very gentlemanly."
"Does his wife know of it?" asked Ada.

"Yes," said Caddy, "and I am engaged to Mr. Turveydrop. There are two Mr. Turveydrops, father and son. My Mr. Turveydrop is the son, of course. I only wish I had been better brought up and was likely to make him a better wife, for I am very fond of him."
"I am sorry to hear this," said I, "I must confess."
"I don't know why you should be sorry," she retorted anxiously; "but I am engaged to Mr. Turveydrop, whether or no, and he is very fond of me. It's still a secret, even on his side, because it might break old Mr. Turveydrop's heart or give him a shock if he was told abruptly. Old Mr. Turveydrop is very gentlemanly.


"Old Mr. Turveydrop's wife, Miss Clare?" returned Miss Jellyby, opening her eyes. "There's no such person. He is a widower."
We were here interrupted by Peepy, whose leg had undergone so much on account of his sister's unconsciously jerking it like a bell-rope whenever she was emphatic that the afflicted child now bemoaned his sufferings with a very low-spirited noise. As he appealed to me for compassion, and as I was only a listener, I undertook to hold him. Miss Jellyby proceeded, after begging Peepy's pardon with a kiss and assuring him that she hadn't meant to do it.

He is a widower."
We were here interrupted by Peepy, whose leg was being unconsciously jerked like a bell-rope by his sister. I held him, and Miss Jellyby proceeded, after begging Peepy's pardon with a kiss.


"That's the state of the case," said Caddy. "If I ever blame myself, I still think it's Ma's fault. We are to be married whenever we can, and then I shall go to Pa at the office and write to Ma. It won't much agitate Ma; I am only pen and ink to HER. One great comfort is," said Caddy with a sob, "that I shall never hear of Africa after I am married. Young Mr. Turveydrop hates it for my sake, and if old Mr. Turveydrop knows there is such a place, it's as much as he does."
"It was he who was very gentlemanly, I think!" said I.
"Very gentlemanly indeed," said Caddy. "He is celebrated almost everywhere for his deportment."

"We are to be married whenever we can," she said, "and then I shall go to Pa at the office and write to Ma. It won't much agitate Ma; I am only pen and ink to her. One great comfort is that I shall never hear of Africa after I am married. Young Mr. Turveydrop hates it for my sake, and old Mr. Turveydrop has never heard of it, I dare say."


"Does he teach?" asked Ada.
"No, he don't teach anything in particular," replied Caddy. "But his deportment is beautiful."

"Does old Mr. Turveydrop teach?" asked Ada.
"No, he don't teach anything in particular," replied Caddy. "But his deportment is beautiful. He is famous for his deportment."


Caddy went on to say with considerable hesitation and reluctance that there was one thing more she wished us to know, and felt we ought to know, and which she hoped would not offend us. It was that she had improved her acquaintance with Miss Flite, the little crazy old lady, and that she frequently went there early in the morning and met her lover for a few minutes before breakfast--only for a few minutes. "I go there at other times," said Caddy, "but Prince does not come then. Young Mr. Turveydrop's name is Prince; I wish it wasn't, because it sounds like a dog, but of course he didn't christen himself. Old Mr. Turveydrop had him christened Prince in remembrance of the Prince Regent. Old Mr. Turveydrop adored the Prince Regent on account of his deportment. I hope you won't think the worse of me for having made these little appointments at Miss Flite's, where I first went with you, because I like the poor thing for her own sake and I believe she likes me. If you could see young Mr. Turveydrop, I am sure you would think well of him--at least, I am sure you couldn't possibly think any ill of him. I am going there now for my lesson. I couldn't ask you to go with me, Miss Summerson; but if you would," said Caddy, who had said all this earnestly and tremblingly, "I should be very glad--very glad."

Caddy went on to say hesitantly that there was one thing more she wished us to know, and which she hoped would not offend us. It was that she had improved her acquaintance with Miss Flite, the little crazy old lady, and that she frequently went there early in the morning and met her lover for a few minutes before breakfast.
"I go there at other times," said Caddy, "but Prince does not come then. Young Mr. Turveydrop's name is Prince; I wish it wasn't, because it sounds like a dog, but of course he didn't christen himself. Old Mr. Turveydrop had him christened Prince after the Prince Regent. He adored the Prince Regent on account of his deportment. I hope you won't think the worse of me for having made these little appointments at Miss Flite's, because I like the poor thing for her own sake and I believe she likes me. If you could see young Mr. Turveydrop, I am sure you would think well of him. I am going there now for my lesson. I couldn't ask you to go with me, Miss Summerson; but if you would," said Caddy, earnestly and tremblingly, "I should be very glad."


It happened that we had arranged with my guardian to go to Miss Flite's that day. We had told him of our former visit, and our account had interested him; but something had always happened to prevent our going there again. As I trusted that I might have sufficient influence with Miss Jellyby to prevent her taking any very rash step if I fully accepted the confidence she was so willing to place in me, poor girl, I proposed that she and I and Peepy should go to the academy and afterwards meet my guardian and Ada at Miss Flite's, whose name I now learnt for the first time. This was on condition that Miss Jellyby and Peepy should come back with us to dinner. The last article of the agreement being joyfully acceded to by both, we smartened Peepy up a little with the assistance of a few pins, some soap and water, and a hair-brush, and went out, bending our steps towards Newman Street, which was very near.
I found the academy established in a sufficiently dingy house at the corner of an archway, with busts in all the staircase windows. In the same house there were also established, as I gathered from the plates on the door, a drawing-master, a coal-merchant (there was, certainly, no room for his coals), and a lithographic artist. On the plate which, in size and situation, took precedence of all the rest, I read, MR. TURVEYDROP. The door was open, and the hall was blocked up by a grand piano, a harp, and several other musical instruments in cases, all in progress of removal, and all looking rakish in the daylight. Miss Jellyby informed me that the academy had been lent, last night, for a concert.

It happened that we had arranged with my guardian to go to Miss Flite's that day. We had told him of our former visit, and our account had interested him. So I proposed that she and I and Peepy should go to the academy and afterwards meet my guardian and Ada at Miss Flite's, whose name I now learnt for the first time. This was on condition that Miss Jellyby and Peepy should come back with us to dinner. We smartened Peepy up a little with some soap and water, and a hair-brush, and went out to Newman Street.
The academy was in a dingy house at the corner of an archway, with busts in all the staircase windows. In the same house there were also established, as I gathered from the plates on the door, a drawing-master, a coal-merchant, and a lithographic artist. But the biggest plate read MR. TURVEYDROP. The door was open, and the hall was blocked by a grand piano, a harp, and several other musical instruments in cases. Miss Jellyby informed me that the academy had been lent, last night, for a concert.


We went upstairs--it had been quite a fine house once, when it was anybody's business to keep it clean and fresh, and nobody's business to smoke in it all day--and into Mr. Turveydrop's great room, which was built out into a mews at the back and was lighted by a skylight. It was a bare, resounding room smelling of stables, with cane forms along the walls, and the walls ornamented at regular intervals with painted lyres and little cut-glass branches for candles, which seemed to be shedding their old-fashioned drops as other branches might shed autumn leaves. Several young lady pupils, ranging from thirteen or fourteen years of age to two or three and twenty, were assembled; and I was looking among them for their instructor when Caddy, pinching my arm, repeated the ceremony of introduction. "Miss Summerson, Mr. Prince Turveydrop!"
I curtsied to a little blue-eyed fair man of youthful appearance with flaxen hair parted in the middle and curling at the ends all round his head. He had a little fiddle, which we used to call at school a kit, under his left arm, and its little bow in the same hand. His little dancing-shoes were particularly diminutive, and he had a little innocent, feminine manner which not only appealed to me in an amiable way, but made this singular effect upon me, that I received the impression that he was like his mother and that his mother had not been much considered or well used.
"I am very happy to see Miss Jellyby's friend," he said, bowing low to me. "I began to fear," with timid tenderness, "as it was past the usual time, that Miss Jellyby was not coming."
"I beg you will have the goodness to attribute that to me, who have detained her, and to receive my excuses, sir," said I.

We went upstairs - it had been quite a fine house once - and into Mr. Turveydrop's great room. It was a bare, resounding room with benches along the walls, which were ornamented with painted lyres and little cut-glass branches for candles. Several young lady pupils were assembled; and I was looking at them when Caddy announced, "Miss Summerson, Mr. Prince Turveydrop!"
I curtsied to a little blue-eyed man with flaxen hair and curling all round his head. He had a little fiddle, called a kit, under his left arm, and its little bow in the same hand. His dancing-shoes were particularly small, and he had an innocent, feminine manner which appealed, and gave me the singular impression that he was like his mother and that his mother had not been much considered or well used.
"I am very happy to see Miss Jellyby's friend," he said, bowing low. "I had begun to fear that Miss Jellyby was not coming."
"We detained her; please receive my excuses, sir," said I.


"Oh, dear!" said he.
"And pray," I entreated, "do not allow me to be the cause of any more delay."
With that apology I withdrew to a seat between Peepy (who, being well used to it, had already climbed into a corner place) and an old lady of a censorious countenance whose two nieces were in the class and who was very indignant with Peepy's boots. Prince Turveydrop then tinkled the strings of his kit with his fingers, and the young ladies stood up to dance. Just then there appeared from a side-door old Mr. Turveydrop, in the full lustre of his deportment.

I withdrew to a seat between Peepy and an old lady with a censorious look whose two nieces were in the class and who was very indignant with Peepy's boots. Prince Turveydrop tinkled the strings of his kit, and the young ladies stood up to dance. Just then there appeared from a side-door old Mr. Turveydrop.


He was a fat old gentleman with a false complexion, false teeth, false whiskers, and a wig. He had a fur collar, and he had a padded breast to his coat, which only wanted a star or a broad blue ribbon to be complete. He was pinched in, and swelled out, and got up, and strapped down, as much as he could possibly bear. He had such a neckcloth on (puffing his very eyes out of their natural shape), and his chin and even his ears so sunk into it, that it seemed as though he must inevitably double up if it were cast loose. He had under his arm a hat of great size and weight, shelving downward from the crown to the brim, and in his hand a pair of white gloves with which he flapped it as he stood poised on one leg in a high-shouldered, round-elbowed state of elegance not to be surpassed. He had a cane, he had an eye-glass, he had a snuff-box, he had rings, he had wristbands, he had everything but any touch of nature; he was not like youth, he was not like age, he was not like anything in the world but a model of deportment.
"Father! A visitor. Miss Jellyby's friend, Miss Summerson."

He was a fat old gentleman with a false complexion, false teeth, false whiskers, and a wig. He had a fur collar, and a padded breast to his coat, which only wanted a star or a broad blue ribbon to be complete. He was pinched in, and swelled out, and got up, and strapped down, as much as he could possibly bear. He wore such a neckcloth that his chin and even his ears sunk into it. He had under his arm a hat of great size and weight, and in his hand a pair of white gloves; he stood poised on one leg in a state of elegance not to be surpassed. He had a cane, an eye-glass, a snuff-box, he had rings, he had wristbands, he had everything but any touch of nature; he was a model of deportment.
"Father! A visitor. Miss Jellyby's friend, Miss Summerson."


"Distinguished," said Mr. Turveydrop, "by Miss Summerson's presence." As he bowed to me in that tight state, I almost believe I saw creases come into the whites of his eyes.
"My father," said the son, aside, to me with quite an affecting belief in him, "is a celebrated character. My father is greatly admired."
"Go on, Prince! Go on!" said Mr. Turveydrop, standing with his back to the fire and waving his gloves condescendingly. "Go on, my son!"

"Distinguished," said Mr. Turveydrop.
"My father," said the son, aside, "is a celebrated character. He is greatly admired."
"Go on, Prince! Go on!" said Mr. Turveydrop, waving his gloves condescendingly.


At this command, or by this gracious permission, the lesson went on. Prince Turveydrop sometimes played the kit, dancing; sometimes played the piano, standing; sometimes hummed the tune with what little breath he could spare, while he set a pupil right; always conscientiously moved with the least proficient through every step and every part of the figure; and never rested for an instant. His distinguished father did nothing whatever but stand before the fire, a model of deportment.
"And he never does anything else," said the old lady of the censorious countenance. "Yet would you believe that it's HIS name on the door-plate?"
"His son's name is the same, you know," said I.

At this command, the lesson went on. Prince Turveydrop sometimes played the little fiddle, dancing; sometimes played the piano, standing; sometimes hummed, while he set a pupil right; always conscientiously moved with the least proficient pupils through every step; and never rested for an instant. His distinguished father did nothing whatever but stand before the fire, a model of deportment.
"And he never does anything else," said the old lady of the censorious look. "Yet it's his name on the door-plate!"
"His son's name is the same, you know," said I.


"He wouldn't let his son have any name if he could take it from him," returned the old lady. "Look at the son's dress!" It certainly was plain--threadbare--almost shabby. "Yet the father must be garnished and tricked out," said the old lady, "because of his deportment. I'd deport him! Transport him would be better!"
I felt curious to know more concerning this person. I asked, "Does he give lessons in deportment now?"

"He wouldn't let his son have any name if he could take it from him," returned the old lady. "Look at the son's clothes!" They certainly were threadbare - almost shabby. "Yet the father must be garnished," said the old lady, "because of his deportment. I'd deport him! Transport him would be better!"
I asked, "Does he give lessons in deportment now?"


"Now!" returned the old lady shortly. "Never did."
After a moment's consideration, I suggested that perhaps fencing had been his accomplishment.
"I don't believe he can fence at all, ma'am," said the old lady.
I looked surprised and inquisitive. The old lady, becoming more and more incensed against the master of deportment as she dwelt upon the subject, gave me some particulars of his career, with strong assurances that they were mildly stated.

"Never did!" And the old lady, becoming more and more incensed against the master of deportment, gave me some details of his career.


He had married a meek little dancing-mistress, with a tolerable connexion (having never in his life before done anything but deport himself), and had worked her to death, or had, at the best, suffered her to work herself to death, to maintain him in those expenses which were indispensable to his position. At once to exhibit his deportment to the best models and to keep the best models constantly before himself, he had found it necessary to frequent all public places of fashionable and lounging resort, to be seen at Brighton and elsewhere at fashionable times, and to lead an idle life in the very best clothes. To enable him to do this, the affectionate little dancing-mistress had toiled and laboured and would have toiled and laboured to that hour if her strength had lasted so long. For the mainspring of the story was that in spite of the man's absorbing selfishness, his wife (overpowered by his deportment) had, to the last, believed in him and had, on her death-bed, in the most moving terms, confided him to their son as one who had an inextinguishable claim upon him and whom he could never regard with too much pride and deference. The son, inheriting his mother's belief, and having the deportment always before him, had lived and grown in the same faith, and now, at thirty years of age, worked for his father twelve hours a day and looked up to him with veneration on the old imaginary pinnacle.

He had married a meek little dancing-mistress, (having never in his life before done anything but deport himself), and had worked her to death, or let her work herself to death, to maintain him in those expenses which were indispensable to his position. He had found it necessary to frequent all fashionable public places at Brighton and elsewhere in the very best clothes.
To enable him to do this, the affectionate little dancing-mistress had toiled and laboured. To the last, she had believed in him. The son, inheriting his mother's belief, had lived and grown in the same faith, and now worked for his father twelve hours a day and looked up to him with veneration.


"The airs the fellow gives himself!" said my informant, shaking her head at old Mr. Turveydrop with speechless indignation as he drew on his tight gloves, of course unconscious of the homage she was rendering. "He fully believes he is one of the aristocracy! And he is so condescending to the son he so egregiously deludes that you might suppose him the most virtuous of parents. Oh!" said the old lady, apostrophizing him with infinite vehemence. "I could bite you!"

"The airs the fellow gives himself!" said my informant, shaking her head with indignation. "He fully believes he is one of the aristocracy! And he is so condescending to his son. Oh! I could bite you!"


I could not help being amused, though I heard the old lady out with feelings of real concern. It was difficult to doubt her with the father and son before me. What I might have thought of them without the old lady's account, or what I might have thought of the old lady's account without them, I cannot say. There was a fitness of things in the whole that carried conviction with it.
My eyes were yet wandering, from young Mr. Turveydrop working so hard, to old Mr. Turveydrop deporting himself so beautifully, when the latter came ambling up to me and entered into conversation.
He asked me, first of all, whether I conferred a charm and a distinction on London by residing in it? I did not think it necessary to reply that I was perfectly aware I should not do that, in any case, but merely told him where I did reside.
"A lady so graceful and accomplished," he said, kissing his right glove and afterwards extending it towards the pupils, "will look leniently on the deficiencies here. We do our best to polish--polish--polish!"

I could not help being amused, though I also felt real concern. My eyes were wandering from young Mr. Turveydrop working so hard, to old Mr. Turveydrop deporting himself so beautifully, when the latter came ambling up to me.
He asked me whether I conferred a charm and a distinction on London by residing in it? I did not think it necessary to reply that I was perfectly aware I should not do that, but merely told him where I did reside.
"A lady so graceful and accomplished," he said, kissing his right glove and extending it towards the pupils, "will look leniently on the deficiencies here. We do our best to polish!"


He sat down beside me, taking some pains to sit on the form, I thought, in imitation of the print of his illustrious model on the sofa. And really he did look very like it.
"To polish--polish--polish!" he repeated, taking a pinch of snuff and gently fluttering his fingers. "But we are not, if I may say so to one formed to be graceful both by Nature and Art--" with the high-shouldered bow, which it seemed impossible for him to make without lifting up his eyebrows and shutting his eyes "--we are not what we used to be in point of deportment."
"Are we not, sir?" said I.

He sat elegantly down beside me.
"To polish!" he repeated, taking a pinch of snuff and gently fluttering his fingers. "But we are not, if I may say so to one gracefully formed both by Nature and Art - we are not what we used to be in point of deportment."
"Are we not, sir?" said I.


"We have degenerated," he returned, shaking his head, which he could do to a very limited extent in his cravat. "A levelling age is not favourable to deportment. It develops vulgarity. Perhaps I speak with some little partiality. It may not be for me to say that I have been called, for some years now, Gentleman Turveydrop, or that his Royal Highness the Prince Regent did me the honour to inquire, on my removing my hat as he drove out of the Pavilion at Brighton (that fine building), 'Who is he? Who the devil is he? Why don't I know him? Why hasn't he thirty thousand a year?' But these are little matters of anecdote--the general property, ma'am--still repeated occasionally among the upper classes."

"We have degenerated," he returned, shaking his head, which he could do to a very limited extent in his cravat. "Perhaps I am prejudiced. It may not be for me to say that I have been called, for some years now, Gentleman Turveydrop, or that his Royal Highness the Prince Regent did me the honour to inquire, on my removing my hat as he drove out of the Pavilion at Brighton, 'Who is he? Why hasn't he thirty thousand a year?' But these are little matters of anecdote, ma'am, still repeated occasionally among the upper classes."