'My name, sir,' replied the old man most unexpectedly, 'is Dorrit.'
Arthur pulled off his hat to him. 'Grant me the favour of half-a-dozen
words. I was wholly unprepared for your announcement, and hope that
assurance is my sufficient apology for having taken the liberty of
addressing you. I have recently come home to England after a long
absence. I have seen at my mother's--Mrs Clennam in the city--a young
woman working at her needle, whom I have only heard addressed or spoken
of as Little Dorrit. I have felt sincerely interested in her, and have
had a great desire to know something more about her. I saw her, not a
minute before you came up, pass in at that door.'
The old man looked at him attentively. 'Are you a sailor, sir?' he
asked. He seemed a little disappointed by the shake of the head that
replied to him. 'Not a sailor? I judged from your sunburnt face that you
might be. Are you in earnest, sir?'
'I do assure you that I am, and do entreat you to believe that I am, in
plain earnest.' 'I know very little of the world, sir,' returned the other, who had a
weak and quavering voice. 'I am merely passing on, like the shadow over
the sun-dial. It would be worth no man's while to mislead me; it would
really be too easy--too poor a success, to yield any satisfaction. The
young woman whom you saw go in here is my brother's child. My brother
is William Dorrit; I am Frederick. You say you have seen her at your
mother's (I know your mother befriends her), you have felt an interest
in her, and you wish to know what she does here. Come and see.'
He went on again, and Arthur accompanied him.
'My brother,' said the old man, pausing on the step and slowly facing
round again, 'has been here many years; and much that happens even among
ourselves, out of doors, is kept from him for reasons that I needn't
enter upon now. Be so good as to say nothing of my niece's working at
her needle. Be so good as to say nothing that goes beyond what is said
among us. If you keep within our bounds, you cannot well be wrong. Now!
Come and see.' Arthur followed him down a narrow entry, at the end of which a key was
turned, and a strong door was opened from within. It admitted them into
a lodge or lobby, across which they passed, and so through another door
and a grating into the prison. The old man always plodding on before,
turned round, in his slow, stiff, stooping manner, when they came to the
turnkey on duty, as if to present his companion. The turnkey nodded; and
the companion passed in without being asked whom he wanted.