He would probably need no thanks, Clennam said. Very likely he would be
thankful himself (and with reason), that he had had the means and chance
of doing a little service to her, who well deserved a great one.
'And what I was going to say, sir, is,' said Little Dorrit, trembling
more and more, 'that if I knew him, and I might, I would tell him that
he can never, never know how I feel his goodness, and how my good father
would feel it. And what I was going to say, sir, is, that if I knew him,
and I might--but I don't know him and I must not--I know that!--I would
tell him that I shall never any more lie down to sleep without having
prayed to Heaven to bless him and reward him. And if I knew him, and I
might, I would go down on my knees to him, and take his hand and kiss
it and ask him not to draw it away, but to leave it--O to leave it for a
moment--and let my thankful tears fall on it; for I have no other thanks
to give him!' Little Dorrit had put his hand to her lips, and would have kneeled to
him, but he gently prevented her, and replaced her in her chair.
Her eyes, and the tones of her voice, had thanked him far better than
she thought. He was not able to say, quite as composedly as usual,
'There, Little Dorrit, there, there, there! We will suppose that you did
know this person, and that you might do all this, and that it was all
done. And now tell me, Who am quite another person--who am nothing
more than the friend who begged you to trust him--why you are out at
midnight, and what it is that brings you so far through the streets
at this late hour, my slight, delicate,' child was on his lips again,
'Little Dorrit!'
'Maggy and I have been to-night,' she answered, subduing herself with
the quiet effort that had long been natural to her, 'to the theatre
where my sister is engaged.'
'And oh ain't it a Ev'nly place,' suddenly interrupted Maggy, who seemed
to have the power of going to sleep and waking up whenever she chose.
'Almost as good as a hospital. Only there ain't no Chicking in it.'
Here she shook herself, and fell asleep again.
'We went there,' said Little Dorrit, glancing at her charge, 'because
I like sometimes to know, of my own knowledge, that my sister is doing
well; and like to see her there, with my own eyes, when neither she nor
Uncle is aware. It is very seldom indeed that I can do that, because
when I am not out at work, I am with my father, and even when I am out
at work, I hurry home to him. But I pretend to-night that I am at a
party.' As she made the confession, timidly hesitating, she raised her eyes to
the face, and read its expression so plainly that she answered it. 'Oh
no, certainly! I never was at a party in my life.' She paused a little
under his attentive look, and then said, 'I hope there is no harm in it.
I could never have been of any use, if I had not pretended a little.'