'For goodness sake let me get out of the way first,' said Flora, putting
her hands to her ears and moving towards the door, 'or I know I shall
go off dead and screaming and make everybody worse, and the dear little
thing only this morning looking so nice and neat and good and yet so
poor and now a fortune is she really and deserves it too! and might I
mention it to Mr F.'s Aunt Arthur not Doyce and Clennam for this once or
if objectionable not on any account.'
Arthur nodded his free permission, since Flora shut out all verbal
communication. Flora nodded in return to thank him, and hurried out of
the room. Little Dorrit's step was already on the stairs, and in another moment
she was at the door. Do what he could to compose his face, he could not
convey so much of an ordinary expression into it, but that the moment
she saw it she dropped her work, and cried, 'Mr Clennam! What's the
matter?' 'Nothing, nothing. That is, no misfortune has happened. I have come
to tell you something, but it is a piece of great good-fortune.'
'Good-fortune?'
'Wonderful fortune!' They stood in a window, and her eyes, full of light, were fixed upon his
face. He put an arm about her, seeing her likely to sink down. She put
a hand upon that arm, partly to rest upon it, and partly so to preserve
their relative positions as that her intent look at him should be shaken
by no change of attitude in either of them. Her lips seemed to repeat
'Wonderful fortune?' He repeated it again, aloud.
'Dear Little Dorrit! Your father.' The ice of the pale face broke at the word, and little lights and shoots
of expression passed all over it. They were all expressions of pain. Her
breath was faint and hurried. Her heart beat fast. He would have clasped
the little figure closer, but he saw that the eyes appealed to him not
to be moved. 'Your father can be free within this week. He does not know it; we must
go to him from here, to tell him of it. Your father will be free within
a few days. Your father will be free within a few hours. Remember we
must go to him from here, to tell him of it!' That brought her back. Her eyes were closing, but they opened again.
'This is not all the good-fortune. This is not all the wonderful
good-fortune, my dear Little Dorrit. Shall I tell you more?' Her lips shaped 'Yes.' 'Your father will be no beggar when he is free. He will want for
nothing.