As I rode quietly home at night after the day’s bustle, I thought a good deal of Caddy’s engagement and felt confirmed in my hopes (in spite of the elder Mr. Turveydrop) that she would be the happier and better for it.  And if there seemed to be but a slender chance of her and her husband ever finding out what the model of deportment really was, why that was all for the best too, and who would wish them to be wiser?  I did not wish them to be any wiser and indeed was half ashamed of not entirely believing in him myself.  And I looked up at the stars, and thought about travellers in distant countries and the stars they saw, and hoped I might always be so blest and happy as to be useful to some one in my small way.

They were so glad to see me when I got home, as they always were, that I could have sat down and cried for joy if that had not been a method of making myself disagreeable.  Everybody in the house, from the lowest to the highest, showed me such a bright face of welcome, and spoke so cheerily, and was so happy to do anything for me, that I suppose there never was such a fortunate little creature in the world.

We got into such a chatty state that night, through Ada and my guardian drawing me out to tell them all about Caddy, that I went on prose, prose, prosing for a length of time.  At last I got up to my own room, quite red to think how I had been holding forth, and then I heard a soft tap at my door.  So I said, “Come in!” and there came in a pretty little girl, neatly dressed in mourning, who dropped a curtsy.

“If you please, miss,” said the little girl in a soft voice, “I am Charley.”

“Why, so you are,” said I, stooping down in astonishment and giving her a kiss.  “How glad am I to see you, Charley!”

“If you please, miss,” pursued Charley in the same soft voice, “I’m your maid.”

“Charley?”

“If you please, miss, I’m a present to you, with Mr. Jarndyce’s love.”

I sat down with my hand on Charley’s neck and looked at Charley.

“And oh, miss,” says Charley, clapping her hands, with the tears starting down her dimpled cheeks, “Tom’s at school, if you please, and learning so good!  And little Emma, she’s with Mrs. Blinder, miss, a-being took such care of!  And Tom, he would have been at school—­and Emma, she would have been left with Mrs. Blinder—­and me, I should have been here—­all a deal sooner, miss; only Mr. Jarndyce thought that Tom and Emma and me had better get a little used to parting first, we was so small.  Don’t cry, if you please, miss!”

“I can’t help it, Charley.”

“No, miss, nor I can’t help it,” says Charley.  “And if you please, miss, Mr. Jarndyce’s love, and he thinks you’ll like to teach me now and then.  And if you please, Tom and Emma and me is to see each other once a month.  And I’m so happy and so thankful, miss,” cried Charley with a heaving heart, “and I’ll try to be such a good maid!”