n the North Shore, although
all of my friends are not like the Watermans." She threw this last out
casually, not as a criticism, but that he might, it seemed, withhold
judgment of her present choice of associates. "And I have never known
the world of good cheer that Dickens writes about--wide kitchens, and
teakettles singing and crickets chirping and everybody busy with things
that interest them. Do you know that there are really no bored people
in Dickens except a few aristocrats? None of the poor people are
bored. They may be unhappy, but there's always some recompense in a
steaming drink or savory stew, or some gay little festivity;--even the
vagabonds seem to get something out of life. I realize perfectly that
I've never had the thrills from a bridge game that came to the
Marchioness when she played cards with Dick Swiveller--by stealth."

She talked rapidly, charmingly. He could not be sure how much in
earnest she might be--but she made out her case and continued her
argument.

"When I was a child I walked on gray velvet carpets, and there were
etchings on the wall, and chilly mirrors between the long windows in
the drawing-room. And the kitchen was in the basement and I never went
down. There wasn't a cozy spot anywhere. None of us were cozy, my
mother wasn't. She was very lovely and sparkling and went out a great
deal and my father sparkled too. He still does. But there was really
nothing to draw us together--like the Cratchits or even the Kenwigs.
And we were never comfortable and merry like all of these lovely people
in Pickwick."

She went on wistfully, "When I was nine, I found these little books in
our library and after that I enjoyed vicariously the life I had never
lived. That's why I like it here--Mrs. Flippin's kettle sings--and the
crickets chirp--and Mr. and Mrs. Flippin are comfortable--and cozy--and
content."

It was a long speech. "So now yon see," she said, as she ended, "why I
like Dickens."

"Yes. I see. And so--in your next incarnation you are going to be
like----"

"Little Dorrit."

He laughed and leaned forward. "I can't imagine--you."

"She really had a heavenly time. Dickens tried to make you feel sorry
for her. But she had the best of it all through. Somebody always
wanted her."

"But she was imposed upon. And her unselfishness brought her heavy
burdens."

"She got a lot out of it in the end, didn't she? And what do selfish
people get? I'm one of them.