'By no means,' Mrs General interposed. 'I was quite at your disposition.
I had had my coffee.' '--I took the liberty,' said Mr Dorrit again, with the magnificent
placidity of one who was above correction, 'to solicit the favour of
a little private conversation with you, because I feel rather worried
respecting my--ha--my younger daughter. You will have observed a great
difference of temperament, madam, between my two daughters?'
Said Mrs General in response, crossing her gloved hands (she was never
without gloves, and they never creased and always fitted), 'There is a
great difference.' 'May I ask to be favoured with your view of it?' said Mr Dorrit, with a
deference not incompatible with majestic serenity.
'Fanny,' returned Mrs General, 'has force of character and
self-reliance. Amy, none.' None?
O Mrs General, ask the Marshalsea stones and bars. O Mrs General,
ask the milliner who taught her to work, and the dancing-master who
taught her sister to dance. O Mrs General, Mrs General, ask me, her
father, what I owe her; and hear my testimony touching the life of this
slighted little creature from her childhood up!
No such adjuration entered Mr. Dorrit's head. He looked at Mrs
General, seated in her usual erect attitude on her coach-box behind the
proprieties, and he said in a thoughtful manner,
'True, madam.' 'I would not,' said Mrs General, 'be understood to say, observe,
that there is nothing to improve in Fanny. But there is material
there--perhaps, indeed, a little too much.'
'Will you be kind enough, madam,' said Mr Dorrit, 'to be--ha--more
explicit? I do not quite understand my elder daughter's having--hum--too
much material. What material?' 'Fanny,' returned Mrs General, 'at present forms too many opinions. Perfect breeding forms none, and is never demonstrative.'
Lest he himself should be found deficient in perfect breeding, Mr Dorrit
hastened to reply, 'Unquestionably, madam, you are right.' Mrs General
returned, in her emotionless and expressionless manner, 'I believe so.'
'But you are aware, my dear madam,' said Mr Dorrit, 'that my daughters
had the misfortune to lose their lamented mother when they were very
young; and that, in consequence of my not having been until lately
the recognised heir to my property, they have lived with me as
a comparatively poor, though always proud, gentleman, in--ha
hum--retirement!' 'I do not,' said Mrs General, 'lose sight of the circumstance.'
'Madam,'pursued Mr Dorrit, 'of my daughter Fanny, under her present
guidance and with such an example constantly before her--'
(Mrs General shut her eyes.)--'I have no misgivings. There is
adaptability of character in Fanny. But my younger daughter, Mrs
General, rather worries and vexes my thoughts. I must inform you that
she has always been my favourite.'