Little Dorrit - Page 23/462

'Not exactly that. Put it another way. That you can't believe it easy to

forgive.' 'My experience,' she quietly returned, 'has been correcting my belief

in many respects, for some years. It is our natural progress, I have

heard.' 'Well, well! But it's not natural to bear malice, I hope?' said Mr

Meagles, cheerily.

'If I had been shut up in any place to pine and suffer, I should always

hate that place and wish to burn it down, or raze it to the ground. I

know no more.' 'Strong, sir?' said Mr Meagles to the Frenchman; it being

another of his habits to address individuals of all nations in idiomatic

English, with a perfect conviction that they were bound to understand

it somehow. 'Rather forcible in our fair friend, you'll agree with me, I

think?' The French gentleman courteously replied, 'Plait-il?'

To which Mr

Meagles returned with much satisfaction, 'You are right. My opinion.'

The breakfast beginning by-and-by to languish, Mr Meagles made the

company a speech. It was short enough and sensible enough, considering

that it was a speech at all, and hearty. It merely went to the effect

that as they had all been thrown together by chance, and had all

preserved a good understanding together, and were now about to disperse,

and were not likely ever to find themselves all together again, what

could they do better than bid farewell to one another, and give one

another good-speed in a simultaneous glass of cool champagne all round

the table? It was done, and with a general shaking of hands the assembly

broke up for ever.

The solitary young lady all this time had said no more. She rose with

the rest, and silently withdrew to a remote corner of the great room,

where she sat herself on a couch in a window, seeming to watch the

reflection of the water as it made a silver quivering on the bars of the

lattice. She sat, turned away from the whole length of the apartment, as

if she were lonely of her own haughty choice. And yet it would have been

as difficult as ever to say, positively, whether she avoided the rest,

or was avoided. The shadow in which she sat, falling like a gloomy veil across her

forehead, accorded very well with the character of her beauty. One could

hardly see the face, so still and scornful, set off by the arched

dark eyebrows, and the folds of dark hair, without wondering what its

expression would be if a change came over it. That it could soften or

relent, appeared next to impossible. That it could deepen into anger or

any extreme of defiance, and that it must change in that direction when

it changed at all, would have been its peculiar impression upon most

observers.