‘It seems to me just possible,’ said Arthur, when he had retraced the conversation to the water-cresses and back again, ‘that you have made some reference to Miss Dorrit.’
‘It is just possible, sir,’ returned John Chivery.
‘I don’t understand it. I hope I may not be so unlucky as to make you think I mean to offend you again, for I never have meant to offend you yet, when I say I don’t understand it.’
‘Sir,’ said Young John, ‘will you have the perfidy to deny that you know and long have known that I felt towards Miss Dorrit, call it not the presumption of love, but adoration and sacrifice?’
‘Indeed, John, I will not have any perfidy if I know it; why you should suspect me of it I am at a loss to think. Did you ever hear from Mrs Chivery, your mother, that I went to see her once?’
‘No, sir,’ returned John, shortly. ‘Never heard of such a thing.’
‘But I did. Can you imagine why?’
‘No, sir,’ returned John, shortly. ‘I can’t imagine why.’
‘I will tell you. I was solicitous to promote Miss Dorrit’s happiness; and if I could have supposed that Miss Dorrit returned your affection—’
Poor John Chivery turned crimson to the tips of his ears. ‘Miss Dorrit never did, sir. I wish to be honourable and true, so far as in my humble way I can, and I would scorn to pretend for a moment that she ever did, or that she ever led me to believe she did; no, nor even that it was ever to be expected in any cool reason that she would or could. She was far above me in all respects at all times. As likewise,’ added John, ‘similarly was her gen-teel family.’