Richard had been gone away some time when a visitor came to pass afew days with us. It was an elderly lady. It was Mrs. Woodcourt,who, having come from Wales to stay with Mrs. Bayham Badger1 andhaving written to my guardian2, "by her son Allan's desire," toreport that she had heard from him and that he was well "and senthis kind remembrances to all of us," had been invited by myguardian to make a visit to Bleak3 House. She stayed with us nearlythree weeks. She took very kindly4 to me and was extremelyconfidential, so much so that sometimes she almost made meuncomfortable. I had no right, I knew very well, to beuncomfortable because she confided7 in me, and I felt it wasunreasonable; still, with all I could do, I could not quite help it.
She was such a sharp little lady and used to sit with her handsfolded in each other looking so very watchful8 while she talked tome that perhaps I found that rather irksome. Or perhaps it was herbeing so upright and trim, though I don't think it was that,because I thought that quaintly9 pleasant. Nor can it have been thegeneral expression of her face, which was very sparkling and prettyfor an old lady. I don't know what it was. Or at least if I donow, I thought I did not then. Or at least--but it don't matter.
Of a night when I was going upstairs to bed, she would invite meinto her room, where she sat before the fire in a great chair; and,dear me, she would tell me about Morgan ap-Kerrig until I was quitelow-spirited! Sometimes she recited a few verses fromCrumlinwallinwer and the Mewlinn-willinwodd (if those are the rightnames, which I dare say they are not), and would become quite fierywith the sentiments they expressed. Though I never knew what theywere (being in Welsh), further than that they were highlyeulogistic of the lineage of Morgan ap-Kerrig.
"So, Miss Summerson," she would say to me with stately triumph,"this, you see, is the fortune inherited by my son. Wherever myson goes, he can claim kindred with Ap-Kerrig. He may not havemoney, but he always has what is much better--family, my dear."I had my doubts of their caring so very much for Morgan ap-Kerrigin India and China, but of course I never expressed them. I usedto say it was a great thing to be so highly connected.
"It IS, my dear, a great thing," Mrs. Woodcourt would reply. "Ithas its disadvantages; my son's choice of a wife, for instance, islimited by it, but the matrimonial choice of the royal family islimited in much the same manner."Then she would pat me on the arm and smooth my dress, as much as toassure me that she had a good opinion of me, the distance betweenus notwithstanding.
"Poor Mr. Woodcourt, my dear," she would say, and always with someemotion, for with her lofty pedigree she had a very affectionateheart, "was descended11 from a great Highland12 family, the MacCoortsof MacCoort. He served his king and country as an officer in theRoyal Highlanders, and he died on the field. My son is one of thelast representatives of two old families. With the blessing13 ofheaven he will set them up again and unite them with another oldfamily."It was in vain for me to try to change the subject, as I used totry, only for the sake of novelty or perhaps because--but I neednot be so particular. Mrs. Woodcourt never would let me change it.
"My dear," she said one night, "you have so much sense and you lookat the world in a quiet manner so superior to your time of lifethat it is a comfort to me to talk to you about these familymatters of mine. You don't know much of my son, my dear; but youknow enough of him, I dare say, to recollect14 him?""Yes, ma'am. I recollect him.""Yes, my dear. Now, my dear, I think you are a judge of character,and I should like to have your opinion of him.""Oh, Mrs. Woodcourt," said I, "that is so difficult!""Why is it so difficult, my dear?" she returned. "I don't see itmyself.""To give an opinion--""On so slight an acquaintance, my dear. THAT'S true."I didn't mean that, because Mr. Woodcourt had been at our house agood deal altogether and had become quite intimate with myguardian. I said so, and added that he seemed to be very clever inhis profession--we thought--and that his kindness and gentleness toMiss Flite were above all praise.
"You do him justice!" said Mrs. Woodcourt, pressing my hand. "Youdefine him exactly. Allan is a dear fellow, and in his professionfaultless. I say it, though I am his mother. Still, I mustconfess he is not without faults, love.""None of us are," said I.
"Ah! But his really are faults that he might correct, and ought tocorrect," returned the sharp old lady, sharply shaking her head.
"I am so much attached to you that I may confide5 in you, my dear,as a third party wholly disinterested15, that he is ficklenessitself."I said I should have thought it hardly possible that he could havebeen otherwise than constant to his profession and zealous16 in thepursuit of it, judging from the reputation he had earned.
"You are right again, my dear," the old lady retorted, "but I don'trefer to his profession, look you.""Oh!" said I.
"No," said she. "I refer, my dear, to his social conduct. He isalways paying trivial attentions to young ladies, and always hasbeen, ever since he was eighteen. Now, my dear, he has neverreally cared for any one of them and has never meant in doing thisto do any harm or to express anything but politeness and goodnature. Still, it's not right, you know; is it?""No," said I, as she seemed to wait for me.
"And it might lead to mistaken notions, you see, my dear."I supposed it might.
"Therefore, I have told him many times that he really should bemore careful, both in justice to himself and in justice to others.
And he has always said, 'Mother, I will be; but you know me betterthan anybody else does, and you know I mean no harm--in short, meannothing.' All of which is very true, my dear, but is nojustification. However, as he is now gone so far away and for anindefinite time, and as he will have good opportunities andintroductions, we may consider this past and gone. And you, mydear," said the old lady, who was now all nods and smiles,"regarding your dear self, my love?""Me, Mrs. Woodcourt?""Not to be always selfish, talking of my son, who has gone to seekhis fortune and to find a wife--when do you mean to seek YOURfortune and to find a husband, Miss Summerson? Hey, look you! Nowyou blush!"I don't think I did blush--at all events, it was not important if Idid--and I said my present fortune perfectly17 contented18 me and I hadno wish to change it.
"Shall I tell you what I always think of you and the fortune yet tocome for you, my love?" said Mrs. Woodcourt.
"If you believe you are a good prophet," said I.
"Why, then, it is that you will marry some one very rich and veryworthy, much older--five and twenty years, perhaps--than yourself.
And you will be an excellent wife, and much beloved, and veryhappy.""That is a good fortune," said I. "But why is it to be mine?""My dear," she returned, "there's suitability in it--you are sobusy, and so neat, and so peculiarly situated19 altogether thatthere's suitability in it, and it will come to pass. And nobody,my love, will congratulate you more sincerely on such a marriagethan I shall."It was curious that this should make me uncomfortable, but I thinkit did. I know it did. It made me for some part of that nightuncomfortable. I was so ashamed of my folly20 that I did not like toconfess it even to Ada, and that made me more uncomfortable still.
I would have given anything not to have been so much in the brightold lady's confidence if I could have possibly declined it. Itgave me the most inconsistent opinions of her. At one time Ithought she was a story-teller, and at another time that she wasthe pink of truth. Now I suspected that she was very cunning, nextmoment I believed her honest Welsh heart to be perfectly innocentand simple. And after all, what did it matter to me, and why didit matter to me? Why could not I, going up to bed with my basketof keys, stop to sit down by her fire and accommodate myself for alittle while to her, at least as well as to anybody else, and nottrouble myself about the harmless things she said to me? Impelledtowards her, as I certainly was, for I was very anxious that sheshould like me and was very glad indeed that she did, why should Iharp afterwards, with actual distress21 and pain, on every word shesaid and weigh it over and over again in twenty scales? Why was itso worrying to me to have her in our house, and confidential6 to meevery night, when I yet felt that it was better and safer somehowthat she should be there than anywhere else? These wereperplexities and contradictions that I could not account for. Atleast, if I could--but I shall come to all that by and by, and itis mere22 idleness to go on about it now.
So when Mrs. Woodcourt went away, I was sorry to lose her but wasrelieved too. And then Caddy Jellyby came down, and Caddy broughtsuch a packet of domestic news that it gave us abundant occupation.
First Caddy declared (and would at first declare nothing else) thatI was the best adviser23 that ever was known. This, my pet said, wasno news at all; and this, I said, of course, was nonsense. ThenCaddy told us that she was going to be married in a month and thatif Ada and I would be her bridesmaids, she was the happiest girl inthe world. To be sure, this was news indeed; and I thought wenever should have done talking about it, we had so much to say toCaddy, and Caddy had so much to say to us.
It seemed that Caddy's unfortunate papa had got over hisbankruptcy--"gone through the Gazette," was the expression Caddyused, as if it were a tunnel--with the general clemency24 andcommiseration of his creditors25, and had got rid of his affairs insome blessed manner without succeeding in understanding them, andhad given up everything he possessed26 (which was not worth much, Ishould think, to judge from the state of the furniture), and hadsatisfied every one concerned that he could do no more, poor man.
So, he had been honourably27 dismissed to "the office" to begin theworld again. What he did at the office, I never knew; Caddy saidhe was a "custom-house and general agent," and the only thing Iever understood about that business was that when he wanted moneymore than usual he went to the docks to look for it, and hardlyever found it.
As soon as her papa had tranquillized his mind by becoming thisshorn lamb, and they had removed to a furnished lodging28 in HattonGarden (where I found the children, when I afterwards went there,cutting the horse hair out of the seats of the chairs and chokingthemselves with it), Caddy had brought about a meeting between himand old Mr. Turveydrop; and poor Mr. Jellyby, being very humble29 andmeek, had deferred30 to Mr. Turveydrop's deportment so submissivelythat they had become excellent friends. By degrees, old Mr.
Turveydrop, thus familiarized with the idea of his son's marriage,had worked up his parental31 feelings to the height of contemplatingthat event as being near at hand and had given his gracious consentto the young couple commencing housekeeping at the academy inNewman Street when they would.
"And your papa, Caddy. What did he say?""Oh! Poor Pa," said Caddy, "only cried and said he hoped we mightget on better than he and Ma had got on. He didn't say so beforePrince, he only said so to me. And he said, 'My poor girl, youhave not been very well taught how to make a home for your husband,but unless you mean with all your heart to strive to do it, you badbetter murder him than marry him--if you really love him.'""And how did you reassure32 him, Caddy?""Why, it was very distressing33, you know, to see poor Pa so low andhear him say such terrible things, and I couldn't help cryingmyself. But I told him that I DID mean it with all my heart andthat I hoped our house would be a place for him to come and findsome comfort in of an evening and that I hoped and thought I couldbe a better daughter to him there than at home. Then I mentionedPeepy's coming to stay with me, and then Pa began to cry again andsaid the children were Indians.""Indians, Caddy?""Yes," said Caddy, "wild Indians. And Pa said"--here she began tosob, poor girl, not at all like the happiest girl in the world--"that he was sensible the best thing that could happen to them wastheir being all tomahawked together."Ada suggested that it was comfortable to know that Mr. Jellyby didnot mean these destructive sentiments.
"No, of course I know Pa wouldn't like his family to be welteringin their blood," said Caddy, "but he means that they are veryunfortunate in being Ma's children and that he is very unfortunatein being Ma's husband; and I am sure that's true, though it seemsunnatural to say so."I asked Caddy if Mrs. Jellyby knew that her wedding-day was fixed34.
"Oh! You know what Ma is, Esther," she returned. "It's impossibleto say whether she knows it or not. She has been told it oftenenough; and when she IS told it, she only gives me a placid35 look,as if I was I don't know what--a steeple in the distance," saidCaddy with a sudden idea; "and then she shakes her head and says'Oh, Caddy, Caddy, what a tease you are!' and goes on with theBorrioboola letters.""And about your wardrobe, Caddy?" said I. For she was under norestraint with us.
"Well, my dear Esther,'' she returned, drying her eyes, "I must dothe best I can and trust to my dear Prince never to have an unkindremembrance of my coming so shabbily to him. If the questionconcerned an outfit36 for Borrioboola, Ma would know all about it andwould be quite excited. Being what it is, she neither knows norcares."Caddy was not at all deficient37 in natural affection for her mother,but mentioned this with tears as an undeniable fact, which I amafraid it was. We were sorry for the poor dear girl and found somuch to admire in the good disposition38 which had survived undersuch discouragement that we both at once (I mean Ada and I)proposed a little scheme that made her perfectly joyful39. This washer staying with us for three weeks, my staying with her for one,and our all three contriving40 and cutting out, and repairing, andsewing, and saving, and doing the very best we could think of tomake the most of her stock. My guardian being as pleased with theidea as Caddy was, we took her home next day to arrange the matterand brought her out again in triumph with her boxes and all thepurchases that could be squeezed out of a ten-pound note, which Mr.
Jellyby had found in the docks I suppose, but which he at allevents gave her. What my guardian would not have given her if wehad encouraged him, it would be difficult to say, but we thought itright to compound for no more than her wedding-dress and bonnet41.
He agreed to this compromise, and if Caddy had ever been happy inher life, she was happy when we sat down to work.
She was clumsy enough with her needle, poor girl, and pricked42 herfingers as much as she had been used to ink them. She could nothelp reddening a little now and then, partly with the smart andpartly with vexation at being able to do no better, but she soongot over that and began to improve rapidly. So day after day she,and my darling, and my little maid Charley, and a milliner out ofthe town, and I, sat hard at work, as pleasantly as possible.
Over and above this, Caddy was very anxious "to learnhousekeeping," as she said. Now, mercy upon us! The idea of herlearning housekeeping of a person of my vast experience was such ajoke that I laughed, and coloured up, and fell into a comicalconfusion when she proposed it. However, I said, "Caddy, I am sureyou are very welcome to learn anything that you can learn of ME, mydear," and I showed her all my books and methods and all my fidgetyways. You would have supposed that I was showing her somewonderful inventions, by her study of them; and if you had seenher, whenever I jingled43 my housekeeping keys, get up and attend me,certainly you might have thought that there never was a greaterimposter than I with a blinder follower44 than Caddy Jellyby.
So what with working and housekeeping, and lessons to Charley, andbackgammon in the evening with my guardian, and duets with Ada, thethree weeks slipped fast away. Then I went home with Caddy to seewhat could be done there, and Ada and Charley remained behind totake care of my guardian.
When I say I went home with Caddy, I mean to the furnished lodgingin Hatton Garden. We went to Newman Street two or three times,where preparations were in progress too--a good many, I observed,for enhancing the comforts of old Mr. Turveydrop, and a few forputting the newly married couple away cheaply at the top of thehouse--but our great point was to make the furnished lodging decentfor the wedding-breakfast and to imbue45 Mrs. Jellyby beforehand withsome faint sense of the occasion.
The latter was the more difficult thing of the two because Mrs.
Jellyby and an unwholesome boy occupied the front sitting-room46 (theback one was a mere closet), and it was littered down with waste-paper and Borrioboolan documents, as an untidy stable might belittered with straw. Mrs. Jellyby sat there all day drinkingstrong coffee, dictating47, and holding Borrioboolan interviews byappointment. The unwholesome boy, who seemed to me to be goinginto a decline, took his meals out of the house. When Mr. Jellybycame home, he usually groaned48 and went down into the kitchen.
There he got something to eat if the servant would give himanything, and then, feeling that he was in the way, went out andwalked about Hatton Garden in the wet. The poor children scrambledup and tumbled down the house as they had always been accustomed todo.
The production of these devoted49 little sacrifices in anypresentable condition being quite out of the question at a week'snotice, I proposed to Caddy that we should make them as happy as wecould on her marriage morning in the attic50 where they all slept,and should confine our greatest efforts to her mama and her mama'sroom, and a clean breakfast. In truth Mrs. Jellyby required a gooddeal of attention, the lattice-work up her back having widenedconsiderably since I first knew her and her hair looking like themane of a dustman's horse.
Thinking that the display of Caddy's wardrobe would be the bestmeans of approaching the subject, I invited Mrs. Jellyby to comeand look at it spread out on Caddy's bed in the evening after theunwholesome boy was gone.
"My dear Miss Summerson," said she, rising from her desk with herusual sweetness of temper, "these are really ridiculouspreparations, though your assisting them is a proof of yourkindness. There is something so inexpressibly absurd to me in theidea of Caddy being married! Oh, Caddy, you silly, silly, sillypuss!"She came upstairs with us notwithstanding and looked at the clothesin her customary far-off manner. They suggested one distinct ideato her, for she said with her placid smile, and shaking her head,"My good Miss Summerson, at half the cost, this weak child mighthave been equipped for Africa!"On our going downstairs again, Mrs. Jellyby asked me whether thistroublesome business was really to take place next Wednesday. Andon my replying yes, she said, "Will my room be required, my dearMiss Summerson? For it's quite impossible that I can put my papersaway."I took the liberty of saying that the room would certainly bewanted and that I thought we must put the papers away somewhere.
"Well, my dear Miss Summerson," said Mrs. Jellyby, "you know best,I dare say. But by obliging me to employ a boy, Caddy hasembarrassed me to that extent, overwhelmed as I am with publicbusiness, that I don't know which way to turn. We have aRamification meeting, too, on Wednesday afternoon, and theinconvenience is very serious.""It is not likely to occur again," said I, smiling. "Caddy will bemarried but once, probably.""That's true," Mrs. Jellyby replied; "that's true, my dear. Isuppose we must make the best of it!"The next question was how Mrs. Jellyby should be dressed on theoccasion. I thought it very curious to see her looking on serenelyfrom her writing-table while Caddy and I discussed it, occasionallyshaking her head at us with a half-reproachful smile like asuperior spirit who could just bear with our trifling52.
The state in which her dresses were, and the extraordinaryconfusion in which she kept them, added not a little to ourdifficulty; but at length we devised something not very unlike whata common-place mother might wear on such an occasion. Theabstracted manner in which Mrs. Jellyby would deliver herself up tohaving this attire53 tried on by the dressmaker, and the sweetnesswith which she would then observe to me how sorry she was that Ihad not turned my thoughts to Africa, were consistent with the restof her behaviour.
The lodging was rather confined as to space, but I fancied that ifMrs. Jellyby's household had been the only lodgers54 in Saint Paul'sor Saint Peter's, the sole advantage they would have found in thesize of the building would have been its affording a great deal ofroom to be dirty in. I believe that nothing belonging to thefamily which it had been possible to break was unbroken at the timeof those preparations for Caddy's marriage, that nothing which ithad been possible to spoil in any way was unspoilt, and that nodomestic object which was capable of collecting dirt, from a dearchild's knee to the door-plate, was without as much dirt as couldwell accumulate upon it.
Poor Mr. Jellyby, who very seldom spoke55 and almost always sat whenhe was at home with his head against the wall, became interestedwhen he saw that Caddy and I were attempting to establish someorder among all this waste and ruin and took off his coat to help.
But such wonderful things came tumbling out of the closets whenthey were opened--bits of mouldy pie, sour bottles, Mrs. Jellyby'scaps, letters, tea, forks, odd boots and shoes of children,firewood, wafers, saucepan-lids, damp sugar in odds56 and ends ofpaper bags, footstools, blacklead brushes, bread, Mrs. Jellyby'sbonnets, books with butter sticking to the binding57, guttered58 candleends put out by being turned upside down in broken candlesticks,nutshells, heads and tails of shrimps59, dinner-mats, gloves, coffee-grounds, umbrellas--that he looked frightened, and left off again.
But he came regularly every evening and sat without his coat, withhis head against the wall, as though he would have helped us if hehad known how.
"Poor Pa!" said Caddy to me on the night before the great day, whenwe really had got things a little to rights. "It seems unkind toleave him, Esther. But what could I do if I stayed! Since I firstknew you, I have tidied and tidied over and over again, but it'suseless. Ma and Africa, together, upset the whole house directly.
We never have a servant who don't drink. Ma's ruinous toeverything."Mr. Jellyby could not hear what she said, but he seemed very lowindeed and shed tears, I thought.
"My heart aches for him; that it does!" sobbed60 Caddy. "I can'thelp thinking to-night, Esther, how dearly I hope to be happy withPrince, and how dearly Pa hoped, I dare say, to be happy with Ma.
What a disappointed life!""My dear Caddy!" said Mr. Jellyby, looking slowly round from thewail. It was the first time, I think, I ever heard him say threewords together.
"Yes, Pa!" cried Caddy, going to him and embracing himaffectionately.
"My dear Caddy," said Mr. Jellyby. "Never have--""Not Prince, Pa?" faltered61 Caddy. "Not have Prince?""Yes, my dear," said Mr. Jellyby. "Have him, certainly. But,never have--"I mentioned in my account of our first visit in Thavies Inn thatRichard described Mr. Jellyby as frequently opening his mouth afterdinner without saying anything. It was a habit of his. He openedhis mouth now a great many times and shook his head in a melancholymanner.
"What do you wish me not to have? Don't have what, dear Pa?" askedCaddy, coaxing62 him, with her arms round his neck.
"Never have a mission, my dear child."Mr. Jellyby groaned and laid his head against the wall again, andthis was the only time I ever heard him make any approach toexpressing his sentiments on the Borrioboolan question. I supposehe had been more talkative and lively once, but he seemed to havebeen completely exhausted63 long before I knew him.
I thought Mrs. Jellyby never would have left off serenely51 lookingover her papers and drinking coffee that night. It was twelveo'clock before we could obtain possession of the room, and theclearance it required then was so discouraging that Caddy, who wasalmost tired out, sat down in the middle of the dust and cried.
But she soon cheered up, and we did wonders with it before we wentto bed.
In the morning it looked, by the aid of a few flowers and aquantity of soap and water and a little arrangement, quite gay.
The plain breakfast made a cheerful show, and Caddy was perfectlycharming. But when my darling came, I thought--and I think now--that I never had seen such a dear face as my beautiful pet's.
We made a little feast for the children upstairs, and we put Peepyat the head of the table, and we showed them Caddy in her bridaldress, and they clapped their hands and hurrahed64, and Caddy criedto think that she was going away from them and hugged them over andover again until we brought Prince up to fetch her away--when, I amsorry to say, Peepy bit him. Then there was old Mr. Turveydropdownstairs, in a state of deportment not to be expressed, benignlyblessing Caddy and giving my guardian to understand that his son'shappiness was his own parental work and that he sacrificed personalconsiderations to ensure it. "My dear sir," said Mr. Turveydrop,"these young people will live with me; my house is large enough fortheir accommodation, and they shall not want the shelter of myroof. I could have wished--you will understand the allusion65, Mr.
Jarndyce, for you remember my illustrious patron the Prince Regent--I could have wished that my son had married into a family wherethere was more deportment, but the will of heaven be done!"Mr. and Mrs. Pardiggle were of the party--Mr. Pardiggle, anobstinate-looking man with a large waistcoat and stubbly hair, whowas always talking in a loud bass66 voice about his mite10, or Mrs.
Pardiggle's mite, or their five boys' mites67. Mr. Quale, with hishair brushed back as usual and his knobs of temples shining verymuch, was also there, not in the character of a disappointed lover,but as the accepted of a young--at least, an unmarried--lady, aMiss Wisk, who was also there. Miss Wisk's mission, my guardiansaid, was to show the world that woman's mission was man's missionand that the only genuine mission of both man and woman was to bealways moving declaratory resolutions about things in general atpublic meetings. The guests were few, but were, as one mightexpect at Mrs. Jellyby's, all devoted to public objects only.
Besides those I have mentioned, there was an extremely dirty ladywith her bonnet all awry68 and the ticketed price of her dress stillsticking on it, whose neglected home, Caddy told me, was like afilthy wilderness69, but whose church was like a fancy fair. A verycontentious gentleman, who said it was his mission to beeverybody's brother but who appeared to be on terms of coolnesswith the whole of his large family, completed the party.
A party, having less in common with such an occasion, could hardlyhave been got together by any ingenuity70. Such a mean mission asthe domestic mission was the very last thing to be endured amongthem; indeed, Miss Wisk informed us, with great indignation, beforewe sat down to breakfast, that the idea of woman's mission lyingchiefly in the narrow sphere of home was an outrageous71 slander72 onthe part of her tyrant73, man. One other singularity was that nobodywith a mission--except Mr. Quale, whose mission, as I think I haveformerly said, was to be in ecstasies74 with everybody's mission--cared at all for anybody's mission. Mrs. Pardiggle being as clearthat the only one infallible course was her course of pouncing75 uponthe poor and applying benevolence76 to them like a strait-waistcoat;as Miss Wisk was that the only practical thing for the world wasthe emancipation77 of woman from the thraldom78 of her tyrant, man.
Mrs. Jellyby, all the while, sat smiling at the limited vision thatcould see anything but Borrioboola-Gha.
But I am anticipating now the purport79 of our conversation on theride home instead of first marrying Caddy. We all went to church,and Mr. Jellyby gave her away. Of the air with which old Mr.
Turveydrop, with his hat under his left arm (the inside presentedat the clergyman like a cannon) and his eyes creasing80 themselves upinto his wig81, stood stiff and high-shouldered behind us bridesmaidsduring the ceremony, and afterwards saluted82 us, I could never sayenough to do it justice. Miss Wisk, whom I cannot report asprepossessing in appearance, and whose manner was grim, listened tothe proceedings83, as part of woman's wrongs, with a disdainful face.
Mrs. Jellyby, with her calm smile and her bright eyes, looked theleast concerned of all the company.
We duly came back to breakfast, and Mrs. Jellyby sat at the head ofthe table and Mr. Jellyby at the foot. Caddy had previously84 stolenupstairs to hug the children again and tell them that her name wasTurveydrop. But this piece of information, instead of being anagreeable surprise to Peepy, threw him on his back in suchtransports of kicking grief that I could do nothing on being sentfor but accede85 to the proposal that he should be admitted to thebreakfast table. So he came down and sat in my lap; and Mrs.
Jellyby, after saying, in reference to the state of his pinafore,"Oh, you naughty Peepy, what a shocking little pig you are!" wasnot at all discomposed. He was very good except that he broughtdown Noah with him (out of an ark I had given him before we went tochurch) and WOULD dip him head first into the wine-glasses and thenput him in his mouth.
My guardian, with his sweet temper and his quick perception and hisamiable face, made something agreeable even out of the ungenialcompany. None of them seemed able to talk about anything but his,or her, own one subject, and none of them seemed able to talk abouteven that as part of a world in which there was anything else; butmy guardian turned it all to the merry encouragement of Caddy andthe honour of the occasion, and brought us through the breakfastnobly. What we should have done without him, I am afraid to think,for all the company despising the bride and bridegroom and old Mr.
Turveydrop--and old Mr. Thrveydrop, in virtue86 of his deportment,considering himself vastly superior to all the company--it was avery unpromising case.
At last the time came when poor Caddy was to go and when all herproperty was packed on the hired coach and pair that was to takeher and her husband to Gravesend. It affected87 us to see Caddyclinging, then, to her deplorable home and hanging on her mother'sneck with the greatest tenderness.
"I am very sorry I couldn't go on writing from dictation, Ma,"sobbed Caddy. "I hope you forgive me now.""Oh, Caddy, Caddy!" said Mrs. Jellyby. "I have told you over andover again that I have engaged a boy, and there's an end of it.""You are sure you are not the least angry with me, Ma? Say you aresure before I go away, Ma?""You foolish Caddy," returned Mrs. Jellyby, "do I look angry, orhave I inclination88 to be angry, or time to be angry? How CAN you?""Take a little care of Pa while I am gone, Mama!"Mrs. Jellyby positively89 laughed at the fancy. "You romanticchild," said she, lightly patting Caddy's back. "Go along. I amexcellent friends with you. Now, good-bye, Caddy, and be veryhappy!"Then Caddy hung upon her father and nursed his cheek against hersas if he were some poor dull child in pain. All this took place inthe hall. Her father released her, took out his pockethandkerchief, and sat down on the stairs with his head against thewall. I hope he found some consolation90 in walls. I almost thinkhe did.
And then Prince took her arm in his and turned with great emotionand respect to his father, whose deportment at that moment wasoverwhelming.
"Thank you over and over again, father!" said Prince, kissing hishand. "I am very grateful for all your kindness and considerationregarding our marriage, and so, I can assure you, is Caddy.""Very," sobbed Caddy. "Ve-ry!""My dear son," said Mr. Turveydrop, "and dear daughter, I have donemy duty. If the spirit of a sainted wooman hovers91 above us andlooks down on the occasion, that, and your constant affection, willbe my recompense. You will not fail in YOUR duty, my son anddaughter, I believe?""Dear father, never!" cried Prince.
"Never, never, dear Mr. Turveydrop!" said Caddy.
"This," returned Mr. Turveydrop, "is as it should be. My children,my home is yours, my heart is yours, my all is yours. I will neverleave you; nothing but death shall part us. My dear son, youcontemplate an absence of a week, I think?""A week, dear father. We shall return home this day week.""My dear child," said Mr. Turveydrop, "let me, even under thepresent exceptional circumstances, recommend strict punctuality.
It is highly important to keep the connexion together; and schools,if at all neglected, are apt to take offence.""This day week, father, we shall be sure to be home to dinner.""Good!" said Mr. Turveydrop. "You will find fires, my dearCaroline, in your own room, and dinner prepared in my apartment.
Yes, yes, Prince!" anticipating some self-denying objection on hisson's part with a great air. "You and our Caroline will be strangein the upper part of the premises92 and will, therefore, dine thatday in my apartment. Now, bless ye!"They drove away, and whether I wondered most at Mrs. Jellyby or atMr. Turveydrop, I did not know. Ada and my guardian were in thesame condition when we came to talk it over. But before we droveaway too, I received a most unexpected and eloquent93 compliment fromMr. Jellyby. He came up to me in the hall, took both my hands,pressed them earnestly, and opened his mouth twice. I was so sureof his meaning that I said, quite flurried, "You are very welcome,sir. Pray don't mention it!""I hope this marriage is for the best, guardian," said I when wethree were on our road home.
"I hope it is, little woman. Patience. We shall see.""Is the wind in the east to-day?" I ventured to ask him.
He laughed heartily94 and answered, "No.""But it must have been this morning, I think," said I.
He answered "No" again, and this time my dear girl confidentlyanswered "No" too and shook the lovely head which, with itsblooming flowers against the golden hair, was like the very spring.
"Much YOU know of east winds, my ugly darling," said I, kissing herin my admiration--I couldn't help it.
Well! It was only their love for me, I know very well, and it is along time ago. I must write it even if I rub it out again, becauseit gives me so much pleasure. They said there could be no eastwind where Somebody was; they said that wherever Dame95 Durden went,there was sunshine and summer air.
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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honourably
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| adv.可尊敬地，光荣地，体面地 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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imbue
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| v.灌输(某种强烈的情感或意见)，感染 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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dictating
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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55
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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guttered
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| vt.形成沟或槽于…（gutter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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shrimps
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| n.虾，小虾( shrimp的名词复数 )；矮小的人 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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62
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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hurrahed
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| v.好哇( hurrah的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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66
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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mites
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| n.（尤指令人怜悯的）小孩( mite的名词复数 )；一点点；一文钱；螨 | |
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awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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pouncing
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的现在分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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thraldom
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| n.奴隶的身份，奴役，束缚 | |
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purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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creasing
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的现在分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 挑檐 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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accede
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| v.应允，同意 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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hovers
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| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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