I also mentioned to your sister--I again address the non-professional
Miss Dorrit--that my son would have nothing in the event of such a
marriage, and would be an absolute beggar. (I mention that merely as
a fact which is part of the narrative, and not as supposing it to have
influenced your sister, except in the prudent and legitimate way
in which, constituted as our artificial system is, we must all be
influenced by such considerations.) Finally, after some high words
and high spirit on the part of your sister, we came to the complete
understanding that there was no danger; and your sister was so obliging
as to allow me to present her with a mark or two of my appreciation at
my dressmaker's.'
Little Dorrit looked sorry, and glanced at Fanny with a troubled face.
'Also,' said Mrs Merdle, 'as to promise to give me the present pleasure
of a closing interview, and of parting with her on the best of terms.
On which occasion,' added Mrs Merdle, quitting her nest, and putting
something in Fanny's hand, 'Miss Dorrit will permit me to say Farewell
with best wishes in my own dull manner.'
The sisters rose at the same time, and they all stood near the cage of
the parrot, as he tore at a claw-full of biscuit and spat it out, seemed
to mock them with a pompous dance of his body without moving his feet,
and suddenly turned himself upside down and trailed himself all over
the outside of his golden cage, with the aid of his cruel beak and black
tongue. 'Adieu, Miss Dorrit, with best wishes,' said Mrs Merdle. 'If we could
only come to a Millennium, or something of that sort, I for one might
have the pleasure of knowing a number of charming and talented persons
from whom I am at present excluded. A more primitive state of society
would be delicious to me. There used to be a poem when I learnt lessons,
something about Lo the poor Indians whose something mind! If a few
thousand persons moving in Society, could only go and be Indians, I
would put my name down directly; but as, moving in Society, we can't be
Indians, unfortunately--Good morning!'
They came down-stairs with powder before them and powder behind, the
elder sister haughty and the younger sister humbled, and were shut out
into unpowdered Harley Street, Cavendish Square.
'Well?' said Fanny, when they had gone a little way without speaking.
'Have you nothing to say, Amy?' 'Oh, I don't know what to say!' she answered, distressed. 'You didn't
like this young man, Fanny?'