‘Mrs General,’ said Mr Dorrit, ‘take a chair.’
Mrs General, with a graceful curve of acknowledgment, descended into the chair which Mr Dorrit offered.
‘Madam,’ pursued that gentleman, ‘as you have had the kindness to undertake the—hum—formation of my daughters, and as I am persuaded that nothing nearly affecting them can—ha—be indifferent to you—’
‘Wholly impossible,’ said Mrs General in the calmest of ways.
‘—I therefore wish to announce to you, madam, that my daughter now present—’
Mrs General made a slight inclination of her head to Fanny, who made a very low inclination of her head to Mrs General, and came loftily upright again.
‘—That my daughter Fanny is—ha—contracted to be married to Mr Sparkler, with whom you are acquainted. Hence, madam, you will be relieved of half your difficult charge—ha—difficult charge.’ Mr Dorrit repeated it with his angry eye on Fanny. ‘But not, I hope, to the—hum—diminution of any other portion, direct or indirect, of the footing you have at present the kindness to occupy in my family.’
‘Mr Dorrit,’ returned Mrs General, with her gloved hands resting on one another in exemplary repose, ‘is ever considerate, and ever but too appreciative of my friendly services.’
(Miss Fanny coughed, as much as to say, ‘You are right.’)
‘Miss Dorrit has no doubt exercised the soundest discretion of which the circumstances admitted, and I trust will allow me to offer her my sincere congratulations. When free from the trammels of passion,’ Mrs General closed her eyes at the word, as if she could not utter it, and see anybody; ‘when occurring with the approbation of near relatives; and when cementing the proud structure of a family edifice; these are usually auspicious events. I trust Miss Dorrit will allow me to offer her my best congratulations.’