'I only want my clean dress from Amy, father,' said the second girl.
'And I my clothes,' said Tip.
Amy opened a drawer in an old piece of furniture that was a chest of
drawers above and a bedstead below, and produced two little bundles,
which she handed to her brother and sister. 'Mended and made up?'
Clennam heard the sister ask in a whisper. To which Amy answered 'Yes.'
He had risen now, and took the opportunity of glancing round the room.
The bare walls had been coloured green, evidently by an unskilled hand,
and were poorly decorated with a few prints. The window was curtained,
and the floor carpeted; and there were shelves and pegs, and other such
conveniences, that had accumulated in the course of years. It was a
close, confined room, poorly furnished; and the chimney smoked to boot,
or the tin screen at the top of the fireplace was superfluous; but
constant pains and care had made it neat, and even, after its kind,
comfortable. All the while the bell was ringing, and the uncle was
anxious to go. 'Come, Fanny, come, Fanny,' he said, with his ragged
clarionet case under his arm; 'the lock, child, the lock!'
Fanny bade her father good night, and whisked off airily. Tip had
already clattered down-stairs. 'Now, Mr Clennam,' said the uncle,
looking back as he shuffled out after them, 'the lock, sir, the lock.'
Mr Clennam had two things to do before he followed; one, to offer his
testimonial to the Father of the Marshalsea, without giving pain to his
child; the other to say something to that child, though it were but a
word, in explanation of his having come there.
'Allow me,' said the Father, 'to see you down-stairs.'
She had slipped out after the rest, and they were alone. 'Not on any
account,' said the visitor, hurriedly. 'Pray allow me to--' chink,
chink, chink. 'Mr Clennam,' said the Father, 'I am deeply, deeply--' But his visitor
had shut up his hand to stop the clinking, and had gone down-stairs with
great speed. He saw no Little Dorrit on his way down, or in the yard. The last two or
three stragglers were hurrying to the lodge, and he was following,
when he caught sight of her in the doorway of the first house from the
entrance. He turned back hastily.
'Pray forgive me,' he said, 'for speaking to you here; pray forgive me
for coming here at all! I followed you to-night. I did so, that I might
endeavour to render you and your family some service. You know the
terms on which I and my mother are, and may not be surprised that I
have preserved our distant relations at her house, lest I should
unintentionally make her jealous, or resentful, or do you any injury in
her estimation. What I have seen here, in this short time, has greatly
increased my heartfelt wish to be a friend to you. It would recompense
me for much disappointment if I could hope to gain your confidence.'