The return of Mr Casby with his daughter Flora, put an end to these
meditations. Clennam's eyes no sooner fell upon the subject of his old
passion than it shivered and broke to pieces.
Most men will be found sufficiently true to themselves to be true to
an old idea. It is no proof of an inconstant mind, but exactly the
opposite, when the idea will not bear close comparison with the reality,
and the contrast is a fatal shock to it. Such was Clennam's case. In his
youth he had ardently loved this woman, and had heaped upon her all the
locked-up wealth of his affection and imagination. That wealth had been,
in his desert home, like Robinson Crusoe's money; exchangeable with no
one, lying idle in the dark to rust, until he poured it out for her.
Ever since that memorable time, though he had, until the night of his
arrival, as completely dismissed her from any association with his
Present or Future as if she had been dead (which she might easily
have been for anything he knew), he had kept the old fancy of the Past
unchanged, in its old sacred place. And now, after all, the last of the
Patriarchs coolly walked into the parlour, saying in effect, 'Be good
enough to throw it down and dance upon it.
This is Flora.' Flora, always tall, had grown to be very broad too, and short of breath;
but that was not much. Flora, whom he had left a lily, had become a
peony; but that was not much. Flora, who had seemed enchanting in all
she said and thought, was diffuse and silly. That was much. Flora, who
had been spoiled and artless long ago, was determined to be spoiled and
artless now. That was a fatal blow. This is Flora!
'I am sure,' giggled Flora, tossing her head with a caricature of
her girlish manner, such as a mummer might have presented at her own
funeral, if she had lived and died in classical antiquity, 'I am ashamed
to see Mr Clennam, I am a mere fright, I know he'll find me fearfully
changed, I am actually an old woman, it's shocking to be found out, it's
really shocking!' He assured her that she was just what he had expected and that time had
not stood still with himself. 'Oh! But with a gentleman it's so different and really you look so
amazingly well that you have no right to say anything of the kind,
while, as to me, you know--oh!' cried Flora with a little scream, 'I am
dreadful!' The Patriarch, apparently not yet understanding his own part in the
drama under representation, glowed with vacant serenity.