'Miss Dorrit,' said Mrs Merdle, after frostily looking at her through
her glass, 'precisely what I was on the point of telling your sister,
in pursuance of your request. Much obliged to you for recalling it
so accurately and anticipating me. I immediately,' addressing Little
Dorrit, '(for I am the creature of impulse), took a bracelet from my
arm, and begged your sister to let me clasp it on hers, in token of
the delight I had in our being able to approach the subject so far on
a common footing.' (This was perfectly true, the lady having bought a
cheap and showy article on her way to the interview, with a general eye
to bribery.) 'And I told you, Mrs Merdle,' said Fanny, 'that we might be unfortunate,
but we are not common.'
'I think, the very words, Miss Dorrit,' assented Mrs Merdle.
'And I told you, Mrs Merdle,' said Fanny, 'that if you spoke to me
of the superiority of your son's standing in Society, it was barely
possible that you rather deceived yourself in your suppositions about my
origin; and that my father's standing, even in the Society in which
he now moved (what that was, was best known to myself), was eminently
superior, and was acknowledged by every one.'
'Quite accurate,' rejoined Mrs Merdle. 'A most admirable memory.'
'Thank you, ma'am. Perhaps you will be so kind as to tell my sister the
rest.' 'There is very little to tell,' said Mrs Merdle, reviewing the breadth
of bosom which seemed essential to her having room enough to be
unfeeling in, 'but it is to your sister's credit. I pointed out to your
sister the plain state of the case; the impossibility of the Society
in which we moved recognising the Society in which she moved--though
charming, I have no doubt; the immense disadvantage at which she would
consequently place the family she had so high an opinion of, upon which
we should find ourselves compelled to look down with contempt, and
from which (socially speaking) we should feel obliged to recoil with
abhorrence. In short, I made an appeal to that laudable pride in your
sister.' 'Let my sister know, if you please, Mrs Merdle,' Fanny pouted, with a
toss of her gauzy bonnet, 'that I had already had the honour of telling
your son that I wished to have nothing whatever to say to him.'
'Well, Miss Dorrit,' assented Mrs Merdle, 'perhaps I might have
mentioned that before. If I did not think of it, perhaps it was because
my mind reverted to the apprehensions I had at the time that he might
persevere and you might have something to say to him.