‘The cause then, ma’am,’ said Mr Meagles, ‘is Tattycoram.’
‘So I supposed.’
‘Miss Wade,’ said Mr Meagles, ‘will you be so kind as to say whether you know anything of her?’
‘Surely. I know she is here with me.’
‘Then, ma’am,’ said Mr Meagles, ‘allow me to make known to you that I shall be happy to have her back, and that my wife and daughter will be happy to have her back. She has been with us a long time: we don’t forget her claims upon us, and I hope we know how to make allowances.’
‘You hope to know how to make allowances?’ she returned, in a level, measured voice. ‘For what?’
‘I think my friend would say, Miss Wade,’ Arthur Clennam interposed, seeing Mr Meagles rather at a loss, ‘for the passionate sense that sometimes comes upon the poor girl, of being at a disadvantage. Which occasionally gets the better of better remembrances.’
The lady broke into a smile as she turned her eyes upon him. ‘Indeed?’ was all she answered.
She stood by the table so perfectly composed and still after this acknowledgment of his remark that Mr Meagles stared at her under a sort of fascination, and could not even look to Clennam to make another move. After waiting, awkwardly enough, for some moments, Arthur said:
‘Perhaps it would be well if Mr Meagles could see her, Miss Wade?’