“Won’t she then?” asked Polly.
“Lork, Mrs Richards, no, her Pa’s a deal too wrapped up in somebody else, and before there was a somebody else to be wrapped up in she never was a favourite, girls are thrown away in this house, Mrs Richards, I assure you.”
The child looked quickly from one nurse to the other, as if she understood and felt what was said.
“You surprise me!” cried Polly. “Hasn’t Mr Dombey seen her since—”
“No,” interrupted Susan Nipper. “Not once since, and he hadn’t hardly set his eyes upon her before that for months and months, and I don’t think he’d have known her for his own child if he had met her in the streets, or would know her for his own child if he was to meet her in the streets to-morrow, Mrs Richards, as to me,” said Spitfire, with a giggle, “I doubt if he’s aweer of my existence.”
“Pretty dear!” said Richards; meaning, not Miss Nipper, but the little Florence.
“Oh! there’s a Tartar within a hundred miles of where we’re now in conversation, I can tell you, Mrs Richards, present company always excepted too,” said Susan Nipper; “wish you good morning, Mrs Richards, now Miss Floy, you come along with me, and don’t go hanging back like a naughty wicked child that judgments is no example to, don’t!”
In spite of being thus adjured, and in spite also of some hauling on the part of Susan Nipper, tending towards the dislocation of her right shoulder, little Florence broke away, and kissed her new friend, affectionately.
“Oh dear! after it was given out so “tickerlerly, that Mrs Richards wasn’t to be made free with!” exclaimed Susan. “Very well, Miss Floy!”
“God bless the sweet thing!” said Richards, “Good-bye, dear!”