ffly staring at the whole composition with Miss
Fanny in the Foreground. On his mother saying, 'Edmund, we are quite
ready; will you give me your arm?' he seemed, by the motion of his lips,
to reply with some remark comprehending the form of words in which his
shining talents found the most frequent utterance, but he relaxed no
muscle. So fixed was his figure, that it would have been matter of some
difficulty to bend him sufficiently to get him in the carriage-door,
if he had not received the timely assistance of a maternal pull from
within. He was no sooner within than the pad of the little window in the
back of the chariot disappeared, and his eye usurped its place. There
it remained as long as so small an object was discernible, and probably
much longer, staring (as though something inexpressibly surprising
should happen to a codfish) like an ill-executed eye in a large locket.

This encounter was so highly agreeable to Miss Fanny, and gave her
so much to think of with triumph afterwards, that it softened her
asperities exceedingly. When the procession was again in motion next
day, she occupied her place in it with a new gaiety; and showed such a
flow of spirits indeed, that Mrs General looked rather surprised.

Little Dorrit was glad to be found no fault with, and to see that Fanny
was pleased; but her part in the procession was a musing part, and a
quiet one. Sitting opposite her father in the travelling-carriage, and
recalling the old Marshalsea room, her present existence was a dream.
All that she saw was new and wonderful, but it was not real; it seemed
to her as if those visions of mountains and picturesque countries might
melt away at any moment, and the carriage, turning some abrupt corner,
bring up with a jolt at the old Marshalsea gate.

To have no work to do was strange, but not half so strange as having
glided into a corner where she had no one to think for, nothing to plan
and contrive, no cares of others to load herself with. Strange as that
was, it was far stranger yet to find a space between herself and her
father, where others occupied themselves in taking care of him, and
where she was never expected to be. At first, this was so much more
unlike her old experience than even the mountains themselves, that she
had been unable to resign herself to it, and had tried to retain her
old place about him. But he had spoken to her alone, and had said that
people--ha--people in an exalted position, my dear, m