ichard left us on the very next evening, to begin his newcareer, and committed Ada to my charge with great lovefor her, and great trust in me. It touched me then toreflect, and it touches me now, more nearly, to remember (havingwhat I have to tell) how they both thought of me, even at thatengrossing time. I was a part of all their plans, for the present andthe future. I was to write to Richard once a week, making myfaithful report of Ada who was to write to him every alternate day.

　　I was to be informed, under his own hand, of all his labours andsuccesses; I was to observe how resolute and persevering he wouldbe; I was to be Ada’s bridesmaid when they were married; I was tolive with them afterwards; I was to keep all the keys of their house;I was to be made happy for ever and a day.

　　“And if the suit should make us rich, Esther―which it may, youknow!” said Richard, to crown all.

　　A shade crossed Ada’s face.

　　“My dearest Ada,” asked Richard pausing, “why not?”

　　“It had better declare us poor at once,” said Ada.

　　“O! I don’t know about that,” returned Richard; “but, at allevents, it won’t declare anything at once. It hasn’t declaredanything in Heaven knows how many years.”

　　“Too true,” said Ada.

　　“Yes, but,” urged Richard, answering what her look suggestedrather than her words, “the longer it goes on, dear cousin, thenearer it must be to a settlement one way or other. Now, is notthat reasonable?”

　　“You know best, Richard. But I am afraid if we trust to it, it willmake us unhappy.”

　　“But, my Ada, we are not going to trust to it!” cried Richard.

　　“We know it better than to trust to it. We only say that if it shouldmake us rich, we have no constitutional objection to being rich.

　　The Court is, by solemn settlement of law, our grim old guardian,and we are to suppose that what it gives us (when it gives usanything) is our right. It is not necessary to quarrel with ourright.”

　　“No,” said Ada, “but it may be better to forget all about it.”

　　“Well, well!” cried Richard, “then we will forget all about it! Weconsign the whole thing to oblivion. Dame Durden puts on herapproving face, and it’s done!”

　　“Dame Durden’s approving face,” said I, looking out of the boxin which I was packing his books, “was not very visible when youcalled it by that name; but it does approve, and she thinks youcan’t do better.”

　　So, Richard said there was an end of it,―and immediatelybegan, on no other foundation, to build as many castles in the airas would man the great wall of China. He went away in highspirits. Ada and I, prepared to miss him very much, commencedour quieter career.

　　On our arrival in London, we had called with Mr Jarndyce atMrs Jellyby’s, but had not been so fortunate as to find her at home.

　　It appeared that she had gone somewhere, to a tea-drinking, andhad taken Miss Jellyby with her. Besides the tea-drinking, therewas to be some considerable speech-making and letter-writing on the general merits of the cultivation of coffee, conjointly withnatives, at the Settlement of Borrioboola-Gha. All this involved, nodoubt, sufficient active exercise of pen and ink, to make herdaughter’s part in the proceedings, anything but a holiday.

　　It being, now, beyond the time appointed for Mrs Jellyby’sreturn, we called again. She was in town, but not at home, havinggone to Mile End, directly after breakfast, on some Borrioboolanbusiness, arising out of a Society called the East London BranchAid Ramification. As I had not seen Peepy on the occasion of ourlast call (when he was not to be found anywhere, and when thecook rather thought he must have strolled away with thedustman’s cart), I now inquired for him again. The oyster shells hehad been building a house with were still in the passage, but hewas nowhere discoverable, and the cook supposed that he had“gone after the sheep.” When we repeated, with some surprise,“The sheep?” she said, O yes, on market days he sometimesfollowed them quite out of town, and came back in such a state asnever was!

　　I was sitting at the window with my Guardian, on the followingmorning, and Ada was busy writing―of course to Richard―whenMiss Jellyby was announced, and entered, leading the identicalPeepy, whom she had made some endeavours to renderpresentable, by wiping the dirt into corners of his face and hands,and making his hair very wet and then violently frizzling it withher fingers. Everything the dear child wore, was either too largefor him or too small. Among his other contradictory decorations hehad the hat of a Bishop, and the little gloves of a baby. His bootswere, on a small scale, the boots of a ploughman: while his legs, socrossed and recrossed with scratches that they looked like maps,were bare, below a very short pair of plaid drawers finished offwith two frills of perfectly different patterns. The deficient buttonson his plaid frock had evidently been supplied from one of MrJellyby’s coats, they were so extremely brazen and so much toolarge. Most extraordinary specimens of needlework appeared onseveral parts of his dress, where it had been hastily mended; and Irecognised the same hand on Miss Jellyby’s. She was, however,unaccountably improved in her appearance, and looked verypretty. She was conscious of poor little Peepy being but a failureafter all her trouble, and she showed it as she came in, by the wayin which she glanced, first at him and then at us.

　　“O dear me!” said my Guardian, “Due East!”

　　Ada and I gave her a cordial welcome, and presented her to MrJarndyce; to whom she said, as she sat down:

　　“Ma’s compliments, and she hopes you’ll excuse her, becauseshe’s correcting proofs of the plan. She’s going to put out fivethousand new circulars, and she knows you’ll be interested to hearthat. I have brought one of them with me. Ma’s compliments.”

　　With which she presented it sulkily enough.

　　“Thank you,” said my Guardian. “I am much obliged to MrsJellyby. O dear me! This is a very wind!”

　　We were busy with Peepy; taking off his clerical hat; asking himif he remembered us; and so on. Peepy retired behind his elbow atfirst, but relented at the sight of sponge-cake, and allowed me totake him on my lap, where he sat munching quietly. Mr Jarndycethen withdrawing into the temporary Growlery, Miss Jellybyopened a conversation with her usual abruptness.

　　“We are going on just as bad as ever in Thavies Inn,” said she.

　　“I have no peace of my life. Talk of Africa! I couldn’t be worse off ifI was a what’s-his-name-man and a brother!”

　　I tried to say something soothing.

　　“O, it’s of no use, Miss Summerson,” exclaimed Miss Jellyby,“though I thank you for the kind intention all the same. I knowhow I am used, and I am not to be talked over. You wouldn’t betalked over, if you were used so. Peepy, go and play at Wild Beastsunder the piano!”

　　“I shan’t!” said Peepy.

　　“Very well, you ungrateful, naughty, hard-hearted boy!”

　　returned Miss Jellyby, with tears in her eyes. “I’ll never take painsto dress you any more.”

　　“Yes, I will go, Caddy!” cried Peepy, who was really a goodchild, and who was so moved by his sister’s vexation that he wentat once.

　　“It seems a little thing to cry about,” said poor Miss Jellyby,apologetically; “but I am quite worn out. I was directing the newcirculars till two this morning. I detest the whole thing so, that thatalone makes my head ache till I can’t see out of my eyes. And lookat that poor unfortunate child. Was there ever such a fright as heis!”

　　Peepy, happily unconscious of the defects in his appearance, saton the carpet behind one of the legs of the piano, looking calmlyout of his den at us, while he ate his cake.

　　“I have sent him to the other end of the room,” observed MissJellyby, drawing her chair nearer ours, “because I don’t want himto hear the conversation. Those little things are so sharp! I wasgoing to say, we really are going on worse than ever. Pa will be abankrupt before long, and then I hope Ma will be satisfied.

　　There’ll be nobody but Ma to thank for it.”

　　We said we hoped Mr Jellyby’s affairs were not in so bad a stateas that.

　　“It’s of no use hoping, though it’s very kind of you!” returnedMiss Jellyby, shaking her head. “Pa told me, only yesterdaymorning, (and dreadfully unhappy he is,) that he couldn’t weatherthe storm. I should be surprised if he could. When all ourtradesmen send into our house any stuff they like, and theservants do what they like with it, and I have no time to improvethings if I knew how, and Ma don’t care about anything, I shouldlike to make out how Pa is to weather the storm. I declare if I wasPa I’d run away!”

　　“My dear!” said I, smiling. “Your papa, no doubt, considers hisfamily.”

　　“O yes, his family is all very fine, Miss Summerson,” repliedMiss Jellyby; “but what comfort is his family to him? His family isnothing but bills, dirt, waste, noise, tumbles downstairs, confusion,and wretchedness. His scrambling home, from week’s-end toweek’s-end, is like one great washing-day―only nothing’swashed!”

　　Miss Jellyby tapped her foot upon the floor, and wiped her eyes.

　　“I am sure I pity Pa to that degree,” she said, “and am so angrywith Ma, that I can’t find words to express myself! However, I amnot going to bear it, I am determined. I won’t be a slave all my life,and I won’t submit to be proposed to by Mr Quale. A pretty thing,indeed, to marry a Philanthropist. As if I hadn’t had enough ofthat!” said poor Miss Jellyby.

　　I must confess that I could not help feeling rather angry withMrs Jellyby, myself; seeing and hearing this neglected girl, andknowing how much of bitterly satirical truth there was in what shesaid.

　　“If it wasn’t that we had been intimate when you stopped at ourhouse,” pursued Miss Jellyby, “I should have been ashamed tocome here today, for I know what a figure I must seem to you two.

　　But, as it is, I made up my mind to call: especially as I am notlikely to see you again, the next time you come to town.”

　　She said this with such great significance that Ada and Iglanced at one another, foreseeing something more.

　　“No!” said Miss Jellyby, shaking her head. “Not at all likely! Iknow I may trust you two. I am sure you won’t betray me. I amengaged.”

　　“Without their knowledge at home?” said I.

　　“Why, good gracious me, Miss Summerson,” she returned,justifying herself in a fretful but not angry manner, “how can it beotherwise? You know what Ma is―and I needn’t make poor Pamore miserable by telling him.”

　　“But would it not be adding to his unhappiness to marrywithout his knowledge or consent, my dear?” said I.

　　“No,” said Miss Jellyby, softening. “I hope not. I should try tomake him happy and comfortable when he came to see me; andPeepy and the others should take it in turns to come and stay withme; and they should have some care taken of them, then.”

　　There was a good deal of affection in poor Caddy. She softenedmore and more while saying this, and cried so much over theunwonted little home-picture she had raised in her mind, thatPeepy, in his cave under the piano, was touched, and turnedhimself over on his back with loud lamentations. It was not until Ihad brought him to kiss his sister, and had restored him to hisplace in my lap, and had shown him that Caddy was laughing (shelaughed expressly for the purpose), that we could recall his peaceof mind; even then, it was for some time conditional on his takingus in turns by the chin, and smoothing our faces all over with hishand. At last, as his spirits were not yet equal to the piano, we puthim on a chair to look out of window; and Miss Jellyby, holdinghim by one leg, resumed her confidence.

　　“It began in your coming to our house,” she said.

　　We naturally asked how?

　　“I felt I was so awkward,” she replied, “that I made up my mindto be improved in that respect, at all events, and to learn to dance.

　　I told Ma I was ashamed of myself, and I must be taught to dance.

　　Ma looked at me in that provoking way of hers as if I wasn’t insight; but, I was quite determined to be taught to dance, and so Iwent to Mr Turveydrop’s Academy in Newman Street.”

　　“And was it there, my dear―” I began.

　　“Yes, it was there,” said Caddy, “and I am engaged to MrTurveydrop. There are two Mr Turveydrops, father and son. MyMr Turveydrop is the son, of course. I only wish I had been betterbrought up, and was likely to make him a better wife; for I am veryfond of him.”

　　“I am sorry to hear this,” said I, “I must confess.”

　　“I don’t know why you should be sorry,” she retorted a littleanxiously, “but I am engaged to Mr Turveydrop, whether or no,and he is very fond of me. It’s a secret as yet, even on his side,because old Mr Turveydrop has a share in the connection, and itmight break his heart, or give him some other shock, if he was toldof it abruptly. Old Mr Turveydrop is a very gentlemanly manindeed―very gentlemanly.”

　　“Does his wife know of it?” asked Ada.

　　“Old Mr Turveydrop’s wife, Miss Clare?” returned Miss Jellyby,opening her eyes. “There’s no such person. He is a widower.”

　　We were here interrupted by Peepy, whose leg had undergoneso much on account of his sister’s unconsciously jerking it like abell-rope whenever she was emphatic, that the afflicted child nowbemoaned his sufferings with a very low-spirited noise. As heappealed to me for compassion, and as I was only a listener, Iundertook to hold him. Miss Jellyby proceeded, after beggingPeepy’s pardon with a kiss, and assuring him that she hadn’tmeant to do it.

　　“That’s the state of the case,” said Caddy. “If I ever blamemyself, I shall think it’s Ma’s fault. We are to be married wheneverwe can, and then I shall go to Pa at the office and write to Ma. Itwon’t much agitate Ma: I am only pen and ink to her. One greatcomfort is,” said Caddy, with a sob, “that I shall never hear ofAfrica after I am married. Young Mr Turveydrop hates it for mysake; and if old Mr Turveydrop knows there is such a place, it’s asmuch as he does.”

　　“It was he who was very gentlemanly, I think?” said I.

　　“Very gentlemanly, indeed,” said Caddy. “He is celebratedalmost everywhere, for his Deportment.”

　　“Does he teach?” asked Ada.

　　“No, he don’t teach anything in particular,” replied Caddy. “Buthis Deportment is beautiful.”

　　Caddy went on to say, with considerable hesitation andreluctance, that there was one thing more she wished us to know,and felt we ought to know, and which she hoped would not offendus. It was, that she had improved her acquaintance with MissFlite, the little crazy old lady; and that she frequently went thereearly in the morning, and met her lover for a few minutes beforebreakfast―only for a few minutes. “I go there, at other times,” saidCaddy, “but Prince does not come then. Young Mr Turveydrop’sname is Prince; I wish it wasn’t, because it sounds like a dog, butof course he didn’t christen himself. Old Mr Turveydrop had himchristened Prince, in remembrance of the Prince Regent. Old MrTurveydrop adored the Prince Regent on account of hisDeportment. I hope you won’t think the worse of me for havingmade these little appointments at Miss Flite’s, where I first wentwith you; because I like the poor thing for her own sake and Ibelieve she likes me. If you could see young Mr Turveydrop, I amsure you would think well of him―at least, I am sure you couldn’tpossibly think any ill of him. I am going there now, for my lesson. Icouldn’t ask you to go with me, Miss Summerson; but if youwould,” said Caddy, who had said all this, earnestly andtremblingly, “I should be very glad―very glad.”

　　It happened that we had arranged with my Guardian to go toMiss Flite’s that day. We had told him of our former visit, and ouraccount had interested him; but something had always happenedto prevent our going there again. As I trusted that I might havesufficient influence with Miss Jellyby to prevent her taking anyvery rash step, if I fully accepted the confidence she was so willingto place in me, poor girl, I proposed that she and I and Peepyshould go to the Academy, and afterwards meet my Guardian andAda at Miss Flite’s―whose name I now learnt for the first time.

　　This was on condition that Miss Jellyby and Peepy should comeback with us to dinner. The last article of the agreement beingjoyfully acceded to by both, we smartened Peepy up a little, withthe assistance of a few pins, some soap and water, and ahairbrush; and went out: bending our steps towards NewmanStreet, which was very near.

　　I found the Academy established in a sufficiently dingy house atthe corner of an archway, with busts in all the staircase windows.

　　In the same house there were also established, as I gathered fromthe plates on the door, a drawing-master, a coal-merchant (therewas, certainly, no room for his coals), and a lithographic artist. Onthe plate which, in size and situation, took precedence of all therest, I read, Mr TURVEYDROP. The door was open, and the hallwas blocked up by a grand piano, a harp, and several othermusical instruments in cases, all in progress of removal, and alllooking rakish in the daylight. Miss Jellyby informed me that theAcademy had been lent, last night, for a concert.

　　We went upstairs―it had been quite a fine house once, when itwas anybody’s business to keep it clean and fresh, and nobody’sbusiness to smoke in it all day―and into Mr Turveydrop’s greatroom, which was built out into a mews at the back, and waslighted by a skylight. It was a bare, resounding room, smelling ofstables; with cane forms along the walls; and the walls ornamentedat regular intervals with painted lyres, and little cut-glassbranches for candles, which seemed to be shedding their old-fashioned drops as other branches might shed autumn leaves.

　　Several young lady pupils, ranging from thirteen or fourteen yearsof age to two or three and twenty, were assembled; and I waslooking among them for their instructor, when Caddy, pinchingmy arm, repeated the ceremony of introduction. “MissSummerson, Mr Prince Turveydrop!”

　　I curtseyed to a little blue-eyed fair man of youthfulappearance, with flaxen hair parted in the middle, and curling atthe ends all round his head. He had a little fiddle, which we usedto call at school a kit, under his left arm, and its little bow in thesame band. His little dancing shoes were particularly diminutive,and he had a little innocent, feminine manner, which not onlyappe aled to me in an amiable way, but made this singular effectupon me: that I received the impression that he was like hismother, and that his mother had not been much considered orwell used.”

　　“I am very happy to see Miss Jellyby’s friend,” he said, bowinglow to me. “I began to fear,” with timid tenderness, “as it was pastthe usual time, that Miss Jellyby was not coming.”

　　“I beg you will have the goodness to attribute that to me, whohave detained her, and to receive my excuses, sir,” said I.

　　“O dear!” said he.

　　“And pray,” I entreated, “do not allow me to be the cause of anymore delay.”

　　With that apology I withdrew to a seat between Peepy (who,being well used to it, had already climbed into a corner place) andan old lady of a censorious countenance, whose two nieces were inthe class, and who was very indignant with Peepy’s boots. PrinceTurveydrop then tinkled the strings of his kit with his fingers, andthe young ladies stood up to dance. Just then, there appeared froma side-door, old Mr Turveydrop, in the full lustre of hisDeportment.

　　He was a fat old gentleman with a false complexion, false teeth,false whiskers, and a wig. He had a fur collar, and he had a paddedbreast to his coat, which only wanted a star or a broad blue ribbonto be complete. He was pinched in, and swelled out, and got up,and strapped down, as much as he could possibly bear. He hadsuch a neckcloth on (puffing his very eyes out of their naturalshape), and his chin and even his ears so sunk into it, that itseemed as though he must inevitably double up, if it were castloose. He had, under his arm, a hat of great size and weight,shelving downward from the crown to the brim; and in his hand apair of white gloves, with which he flapped it, as he stood poisedon one leg, in a high-shouldered, round-elbowed state of elegancenot to be surpassed. He had a cane, he had an eyeglass, he had asnuff-box, he had rings, he had wristbands, he had everything butany touch of nature; he was not like youth, he was not like age, hewas like nothing in the world but a model of Deportment.

　　“Father! A visitor. Miss Jellyby’s friend, Miss Summerson.”

　　“Distinguished,” said Mr Turveydrop, “by Miss Summerson’spresence.” As he bowed to me in that tight state, I almost believe Isaw creases come into the whites of his eyes.

　　“My father,” said the son, aside to me, with quite an affectingbelief in him, “is a celebrated character. My father is greatlyadmired.”

　　“Go on, Prince! Go on!” said Mr Turveydrop, standing with hisback to the fire, and waving his gloves condescendingly. “Go on,my son!”

　　At this command, or by this gracious permission, the lessonwent on. Prince Turveydrop, sometimes, played the kit, dancing;sometimes played the piano, standing: sometimes hummed thetune with what little breath he could spare, while he set a pupilright; always conscientiously moved with the least proficientthrough every step and every part of the figure; and never restedfor an instant. His distinguished father did nothing whatever, butstand before the fire, a model of Deportment.

　　“And he never does anything else,” said the old lady of thecensorious countenance. “Yet would you believe that it’s his nameon the door-plate?”

　　“His son’s name is the same, you know,” said I.

　　“He wouldn’t let his son have any name, if he could take it fromhim,” returned the old lady. “Look at the son’s dress!” It certainlywas plain―threadbare―almost shabby. “Yet the father must begarnished and tricked out,” said the old lady, “because of hisDeportment. I’d deport him! Transport him would be better!”

　　I felt curious to know more, concerning this person. I asked,“Does he give lessons in Deportment, now?”

　　“Now!” returned the old lady, shortly. “Never did.”

　　After a moment’s consideration, I suggested that perhapsfencing had been his accomplishment?

　　“I don’t believe he can fence at all, ma’am,” said the old lady.

　　I looked surprised and inquisitive. The old lady, becoming moreand more incensed against the Master of Deportment as she dweltupon the subject, gave me some particulars of his career, withstrong assurances that they were mildly stated.

　　He had married a meek little dancing-mistress, with a tolerableconnection (having never in his life before done anything butdeport himself), and had worked her to death, or had, at the best,suffered her to work herself to death, to maintain him in thoseexpenses which were indispensable to his position. At once toexhibit his Deportment to the best models, and to keep the bestmodels constantly before himself, he had found it necessary tofrequent all public places of fashionable and lounging resort; to beseen at Brighton and elsewhere at fashionable times; and to leadan idle life in the very best clothes. To enable him to do this, theaffectionate little dancing-mistress had toiled and laboured, andwould have toiled a............