and as to a pillar with a marble pavement
and balustrades and a mountain, I never saw him near it nor not likely
in the wine trade, excellent man but not at all in that way.'

Little Dorrit glanced at the portrait, very imperfectly following the
references to that work of art.

'Mr F. was so devoted to me that he never could bear me out of his
sight,' said Flora, 'though of course I am unable to say how long that
might have lasted if he hadn't been cut short while I was a new broom,
worthy man but not poetical manly prose but not romance.'

Little Dorrit glanced at the portrait again. The artist had given it a
head that would have been, in an intellectual point of view, top-heavy
for Shakespeare. 'Romance, however,' Flora went on, busily arranging Mr
F.'s Aunt's toast, 'as I openly said to Mr F. when he proposed to me
and you will be surprised to hear that he proposed seven times once in a
hackney-coach once in a boat once in a pew once on a donkey at Tunbridge
Wells and the rest on his knees, Romance was fled with the early days of
Arthur Clennam, our parents tore us asunder we became marble and stern
reality usurped the throne, Mr F. said very much to his credit that
he was perfectly aware of it and even preferred that state of things
accordingly the word was spoken the fiat went forth and such is life you
see my dear and yet we do not break but bend, pray make a good breakfast
while I go in with the tray.'

She disappeared, leaving Little Dorrit to ponder over the meaning of her
scattered words. She soon came back again; and at last began to take her
own breakfast, talking all the while.

'You see, my dear,' said Flora, measuring out a spoonful or two of some
brown liquid that smelt like brandy, and putting it into her tea, 'I am
obliged to be careful to follow the directions of my medical man though
the flavour is anything but agreeable being a poor creature and it may
be have never recovered the shock received in youth from too much giving
way to crying in the next room when separated from Arthur, have you
known him long?'

As soon as Little Dorrit comprehended that she had been asked this
question--for which time was necessary, the galloping pace of her new
patroness having left her far behind--she answered that she had known Mr
Clennam ever since his return.

'To be sure you couldn't have known him before unless you had been in
China or had corresponded neither of which is likely,' returned Flora,
'for tr