“I hope, Ma,” sobbed poor Caddy at last, “you are not angry?”

“Oh, Caddy, you really are an absurd girl,” returned Mrs. Jellyby, “to ask such questions after what I have said of the preoccupation of my mind.”

“And I hope, Ma, you give us your consent and wish us well?” said Caddy.

“You are a nonsensical child to have done anything of this kind,” said Mrs. Jellyby; “and a degenerate child, when you might have devoted yourself to the great public measure.  But the step is taken, and I have engaged a boy, and there is no more to be said.  Now, pray, Caddy,” said Mrs. Jellyby, for Caddy was kissing her, “don’t delay me in my work, but let me clear off this heavy batch of papers before the afternoon post comes in!”

I thought I could not do better than take my leave; I was detained for a moment by Caddy’s saying, “You won’t object to my bringing him to see you, Ma?”

“Oh, dear me, Caddy,” cried Mrs. Jellyby, who had relapsed into that distant contemplation, “have you begun again?  Bring whom?”

“Him, Ma.”

“Caddy, Caddy!” said Mrs. Jellyby, quite weary of such little matters.  “Then you must bring him some evening which is not a Parent Society night, or a Branch night, or a Ramification night.  You must accommodate the visit to the demands upon my time.  My dear Miss Summerson, it was very kind of you to come here to help out this silly chit.  Good-bye!  When I tell you that I have fifty-eight new letters from manufacturing families anxious to understand the details of the native and coffee-cultivation question this morning, I need not apologize for having very little leisure.”

I was not surprised by Caddy’s being in low spirits when we went downstairs, or by her sobbing afresh on my neck, or by her saying she would far rather have been scolded than treated with such indifference, or by her confiding to me that she was so poor in clothes that how she was ever to be married creditably she didn’t know.  I gradually cheered her up by dwelling on the many things she would do for her unfortunate father and for Peepy when she had a home of her own; and finally we went downstairs into the damp dark kitchen, where Peepy and his little brothers and sisters were grovelling on the stone floor and where we had such a game of play with them that to prevent myself from being quite torn to pieces I was obliged to fall back on my fairy-tales.  From time to time I heard loud voices in the parlour overhead, and occasionally a violent tumbling about of the furniture.  The last effect I am afraid was caused by poor Mr. Jellyby’s breaking away from the dining-table and making rushes at the window with the intention of throwing himself into the area whenever he made any new attempt to understand his affairs.