The sunset flush was so bright on Little Dorrit's face when she came
thus to the end of her story, that she interposed her hand to shade it. 'Had she got to be old?' Maggy asked. 'The tiny woman?' 'Ah!' 'I don't know,' said Little Dorrit. 'But it would have been just the
same if she had been ever so old.' 'Would it raly!' said Maggy.
'Well, I suppose it would though.' And sat
staring and ruminating. She sat so long with her eyes wide open, that at length Little Dorrit,
to entice her from her box, rose and looked out of window. As she
glanced down into the yard, she saw Pancks come in and leer up with the
corner of his eye as he went by. 'Who's he, Little Mother?' said Maggy.
She had joined her at the window
and was leaning on her shoulder. 'I see him come in and out often.'
'I have heard him called a fortune-teller,' said Little Dorrit. 'But I
doubt if he could tell many people even their past or present fortunes.'
'Couldn't have told the Princess hers?' said Maggy.
Little Dorrit, looking musingly down into the dark valley of the prison,
shook her head. 'Nor the tiny woman hers?' said Maggy.
'No,' said Little Dorrit, with the sunset very bright upon her. 'But let
us come away from the window.'