Little Dorrit thanked her, and said, shyly, bread-and-butter and tea was
all she usually-'Oh nonsense my dear child I can never hear of that,' said Flora,
turning on the urn in the most reckless manner, and making herself wink
by splashing hot water into her eyes as she bent down to look into the
teapot. 'You are coming here on the footing of a friend and companion
you know if you will let me take that liberty and I should be ashamed
of myself indeed if you could come here upon any other, besides which
Arthur Clennam spoke in such terms--you are tired my dear.'
'No, ma'am.' 'You turn so pale you have walked too far before breakfast and I dare
say live a great way off and ought to have had a ride,' said Flora,
'dear dear is there anything that would do you good?'
'Indeed I am quite well, ma'am. I thank you again and again, but I am
quite well.' 'Then take your tea at once I beg,' said Flora, 'and this wing of fowl
and bit of ham, don't mind me or wait for me, because I always carry in
this tray myself to Mr F.'s Aunt who breakfasts in bed and a charming
old lady too and very clever, Portrait of Mr F. behind the door and very
like though too much forehead and as to a pillar with a marble pavement
and balustrades and a mountain, I never saw him near it nor not likely
in the wine trade, excellent man but not at all in that way.'
Little Dorrit glanced at the portrait, very imperfectly following the
references to that work of art. 'Mr F. was so devoted to me that he never could bear me out of his
sight,' said Flora, 'though of course I am unable to say how long that
might have lasted if he hadn't been cut short while I was a new broom,
worthy man but not poetical manly prose but not romance.'
Little Dorrit glanced at the portrait again. The artist had given it a
head that would have been, in an intellectual point of view, top-heavy
for Shakespeare. 'Romance, however,' Flora went on, busily arranging Mr
F.'s Aunt's toast, 'as I openly said to Mr F. when he proposed to me
and you will be surprised to hear that he proposed seven times once in a
hackney-coach once in a boat once in a pew once on a donkey at Tunbridge
Wells and the rest on his knees, Romance was fled with the early days of
Arthur Clennam, our parents tore us asunder we became marble and stern
reality usurped the throne, Mr F. said very much to his credit that
he was perfectly aware of it and even preferred that state of things
accordingly the word was spoken the fiat went forth and such is life you
see my dear and yet we do not break but bend, pray make a good breakfast
while I go in with the tray.'