That
woman,' she spoke of Mrs Merdle, of course, 'remains here until after
Easter; so, in the case of my being married here and going to London
with Edmund, I should have the start of her. That is something. Further,
Amy. That woman being out of the way, I don't know that I greatly object
to Mr Merdle's proposal to Pa that Edmund and I should take up our abode
in that house--you know--where you once went with a dancer, my dear,
until our own house can be chosen and fitted up. Further still, Amy.
Papa having always intended to go to town himself, in the spring,--you
see, if Edmund and I were married here, we might go off to Florence,
where papa might join us, and we might all three travel home together.
Mr Merdle has entreated Pa to stay with him in that same mansion I have
mentioned, and I suppose he will. But he is master of his own actions;
and upon that point (which is not at all material) I can't speak
positively.' The difference between papa's being master of his own
actions and Mr Sparkler's being nothing of the sort, was forcibly
expressed by Fanny in her manner of stating the case. Not that her
sister noticed it; for she was divided between regret at the coming
separation, and a lingering wish that she had been included in the plans
for visiting England.

'And these are the arrangements, Fanny dear?'

'Arrangements!' repeated Fanny. 'Now, really, child, you are a little
trying. You know I particularly guarded myself against laying my words
open to any such construction. What I said was, that certain questions
present themselves; and these are the questions.'

Little Dorrit's thoughtful eyes met hers, tenderly and quietly.

'Now, my own sweet girl,' said Fanny, weighing her bonnet by the strings
with considerable impatience, 'it's no use staring. A little owl could
stare. I look to you for advice, Amy. What do you advise me to do?'

'Do you think,' asked Little Dorrit, persuasively, after a short
hesitation, 'do you think, Fanny, that if you were to put it off for a
few months, it might be, considering all things, best?'

'No, little Tortoise,' retorted Fanny, with exceeding sharpness. 'I
don't think anything of the kind.'

Here, she threw her bonnet from her altogether, and flounced into a
chair. But, becoming affectionate almost immediately, she flounced out
of it again, and kneeled down on the floor to take her sister, chair and
all, in her arms.

'Don't suppose I am hasty or unkind, darling, because