ed in the negative, Little Dorrit said
that she understood why he had been so delicate, but that she felt sure
he would approve of her confiding her secret to Flora, and that
she would therefore do so now with Flora's permission. Receiving an
encouraging answer, she condensed the narrative of her life into a few
scanty words about herself and a glowing eulogy upon her father; and
Flora took it all in with a natural tenderness that quite understood it,
and in which there was no incoherence.

When dinner-time came, Flora drew the arm of her new charge through
hers, and led her down-stairs, and presented her to the Patriarch and Mr
Pancks, who were already in the dining-room waiting to begin. (Mr F.'s
Aunt was, for the time, laid up in ordinary in her chamber.) By those
gentlemen she was received according to their characters; the Patriarch
appearing to do her some inestimable service in saying that he was glad
to see her, glad to see her; and Mr Pancks blowing off his favourite
sound as a salute.

In that new presence she would have been bashful enough under any
circumstances, and particularly under Flora's insisting on her
drinking a glass of wine and eating of the best that was there; but her
constraint was greatly increased by Mr Pancks. The demeanour of that
gentleman at first suggested to her mind that he might be a taker of
likenesses, so intently did he look at her, and so frequently did he
glance at the little note-book by his side. Observing that he made no
sketch, however, and that he talked about business only, she began to
have suspicions that he represented some creditor of her father's, the
balance due to whom was noted in that pocket volume. Regarded from this
point of view Mr Pancks's puffings expressed injury and impatience, and
each of his louder snorts became a demand for payment.

But here again she was undeceived by anomalous and incongruous conduct
on the part of Mr Pancks himself. She had left the table half an hour,
and was at work alone. Flora had 'gone to lie down' in the next room,
concurrently with which retirement a smell of something to drink
had broken out in the house. The Patriarch was fast asleep, with his
philanthropic mouth open under a yellow pocket-handkerchief in the
dining-room. At this quiet time, Mr Pancks softly appeared before her,
urbanely nodding.

'Find it a little dull, Miss Dorrit?' inquired Pancks in a low voice.

'No, thank you, sir,' said Little Dorrit.

'Busy, I