Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

More Fortune-Telling

Maggy sat at her work in her great white cap with its quantity of
opaque frilling hiding what profile she had (she had none to
spare), and her serviceable eye brought to bear upon her
occupation, on the window side of the room. What with her flapping
cap, and what with her unserviceable eye, she was quite partitioned
off from her Little Mother, whose seat was opposite the window.
The tread and shuffle of feet on the pavement of the yard had much
diminished since the taking of the Chair, the tide of Collegians
having set strongly in the direction of Harmony. Some few who had
no music in their souls, or no money in their pockets, dawdled
about; and the old spectacle of the visitor-wife and the depressed
unseasoned prisoner still lingered in corners, as broken cobwebs
and such unsightly discomforts draggle in corners of other places.
It was the quietest time the College knew, saving the night hours
when the Collegians took the benefit of the act of sleep. The
occasional rattle of applause upon the tables of the Snuggery,
denoted the successful termination of a morsel of Harmony; or the
responsive acceptance, by the united children, of some toast or
sentiment offered to them by their Father. Occasionally, a vocal
strain more sonorous than the generality informed the listener that
some boastful bass was in blue water, or in the hunting field, or
with the reindeer, or on the mountain, or among the heather; but
the Marshal of the Marshalsea knew better, and had got him hard and
fast.

As Arthur Clennam moved to sit down by the side of Little Dorrit,
she trembled so that she had much ado to hold her needle. Clennam
gently put his hand upon her work, and said, 'Dear Little Dorrit,
let me lay it down.'

She yielded it to him, and he put it aside. Her hands were then
nervously clasping together, but he took one of them.
'How seldom I have seen you lately, Little Dorrit!'

'I have been busy, sir.'

'But I heard only to-day,' said Clennam, 'by mere accident, of your
having been with those good people close by me. Why not come to
me, then?'

'I--I don't know. Or rather, I thought you might be busy too. You
generally are now, are you not?'

He saw her trembling little form and her downcast face, and the
eyes that drooped the moment they were raised to his--he saw them
almost with as much concern as tenderness.

'My child, your manner is so changed!'

The trembling was now quite beyond her control. Softly withdrawing
her hand, and laying it in her other hand, she sat before him with
her head bent and her whole form trembling.

'My own Little Dorrit,' said Clennam, compassionately.

She burst into tears.