Chapter: The newly married pair, on their arrival in Harley Street, Cavendish
Square, London, were received by the Chief Butler. That great man was
not interested in them, but on the whole endured them. People must
continue to be married and given in marriage, or Chief Butlers would not
be wanted. As nations are made to be taxed, so families are made to
be butlered. The Chief Butler, no doubt, reflected that the course of
nature required the wealthy population to be kept up, on his account.

He therefore condescended to look at the carriage from the Hall-door
without frowning at it, and said, in a very handsome way, to one of
his men, 'Thomas, help with the luggage.' He even escorted the Bride
up-stairs into Mr Merdle's presence; but this must be considered as an
act of homage to the sex (of which he was an admirer, being notoriously
        captivated by the charms of a certain Duchess), and not as a committal
of himself with the family.

Mr Merdle was slinking about the hearthrug, waiting to welcome Mrs
Sparkler. His hand seemed to retreat up his sleeve as he advanced to
do so, and he gave her such a superfluity of coat-cuff that it was like
being received by the popular conception of Guy Fawkes. When he put his
lips to hers, besides, he took himself into custody by the wrists, and
backed himself among the ottomans and chairs and tables as if he were
his own Police officer, saying to himself, 'Now, none of that! Come!
I've got you, you know, and you go quietly along with me!'

Mrs Sparkler, installed in the rooms of state--the innermost sanctuary
of down, silk, chintz, and fine linen--felt that so far her triumph was
good, and her way made, step by step. On the day before her marriage,
    she had bestowed on Mrs Merdle's maid with an air of gracious
    indifference, in Mrs Merdle's presence, a trifling little keepsake
    (bracelet, bonnet, and two dresses, all new) about four times as
    valuable as the present formerly made by Mrs Merdle to her. She was now
    established in Mrs Merdle's own rooms, to which some extra touches had
    been given to render them more worthy of her occupation. In her mind's
    eye, as she lounged there, surrounded by every luxurious accessory that
    wealth could obtain or invention devise, she saw the fair bosom that
    beat in unison with the exultation of her thoughts, competing with the
    bosom that had been famous so long, outshining it, and deposing it.
    Happy? Fanny must have been happy. No more wishing one's self dead now.

    The Courier had not approved of Mr Dorrit's staying in the house of
    a friend, and had preferred to take him to an hotel in Brook Street,
    Grosvenor Square. Mr Merdle ordered his carriage to be ready early
    in the morning that he might wait upon Mr Dorrit immediately after
    breakfast.

    Bright the carriage looked, sleek the horses looked, gleaming the
    harness looked, luscious and lasting the liveries looked. A rich,
    responsible turn-out. An equipage for a Merdle. Early people looked
    after it as it rattled along the streets, and said, with awe in their
    breath, 'There he goes!'

    There he went, until Brook Street stopped him. Then, forth from its
    magnificent case came the jewel; not lustrous in itself, but quite the
    contrary.

    Commotion in the office of the hotel. Merdle! The landlord, though
    a gentleman of a haughty spirit who had just driven a pair of
    thorough-bred horses into town, turned out to show him up-stairs.
    The clerks and servants cut him off by back-passages, and were found
    accidentally hovering in doorways and angles, that they might look upon
    him. Merdle! O ye sun, moon, and stars, the great man! The rich man, who
    had in a manner revised the New Testament, and already entered into the
    kingdom of Heaven. The man who could have any one he chose to dine with
    him, and who had made the money! As he went up the stairs, people were
    already posted on the lower stairs, that his shadow might fall upon them
    when he came down. So were the sick brought out and laid in the track of
    the Apostle--who had _not_ got into the good society, and had _not_ made
    the money.

    Mr Dorrit, dressing-gowned and newspapered, was at his breakfast. The
    Courier, with agitation in his voice, announced 'Miss Mairdale!' Mr
    Dorrit's overwrought heart bounded as he leaped up.

    'Mr Merdle, this is--ha--indeed an honour. Permit me to express
    the--hum--sense, the high sense, I entertain of this--ha hum--highly
    gratifying act of attention. I am well aware, sir, of the many demands
    upon your time, and its--ha--enormous value,' Mr Dorrit could not
    say enormous roundly enough for his own satisfaction. 'That you
    should--ha--at this early hour, bestow any of your priceless time upon
    me, is--ha--a compliment that I acknowledge with the greatest esteem.'
    Mr Dorrit positively trembled in addressing the great man.

    Mr Merdle uttered, in his subdued, inward, hesitating voice, a few
    sounds that were to no purpose whatever; and finally said, 'I am glad to
    see you, sir.'

    'You are very kind,' said Mr Dorrit. 'Truly kind.' By this time the
    visitor was seated, and was passing his great hand over his exhausted
    forehead. 'You are well, I hope, Mr Merdle?'

    'I am as well as I--yes, I am as well as I usually am,' said Mr Merdle.

    'Your occupations must be immense.'

    'Tolerably so. But--Oh dear no, there's not much the matter with _me_,'
    said Mr Merdle, looking round the room.

    'A little dyspeptic?' Mr Dorrit hinted.

    'Very likely. But I--Oh, I am well enough,' said Mr Merdle.

    There were black traces on his lips where they met, as if a little train
    of gunpowder had been fired there; and he looked like a man who, if his
    natural temperament had been quicker, would have been very feverish that
    morning. This, and his heavy way of passing his hand over his forehead,
    had prompted Mr Dorrit's solicitous inquiries.

    'Mrs Merdle,' Mr Dorrit insinuatingly pursued, 'I left, as you will be
    prepared to hear, the--ha--observed of all observers, the--hum--admired
    of all admirers, the leading fascination and charm of Society in Rome.
    She was looking wonderfully well when I quitted it.'

    'Mrs Merdle,' said Mr Merdle, 'is generally considered a very attractive
    woman. And she is, no doubt. I am sensible of her being so.'

    'Who can be otherwise?' responded Mr Dorrit.

    Mr Merdle turned his tongue in his closed mouth--it seemed rather a
    stiff and unmanageable tongue--moistened his lips, passed his hand over
    his forehead again, and looked all round the room again, principally
    under the chairs.

    'But,' he said, looking Mr Dorrit in the face for the first time, and
    immediately afterwards dropping his eyes to the buttons of Mr Dorrit's
    waistcoat; 'if we speak of attractions, your daughter ought to be the
    subject of our conversation. She is extremely beautiful. Both in face
    and figure, she is quite uncommon. When the young people arrived last
    night, I was really surprised to see such charms.'

    Mr Dorrit's gratification was such that he said--ha--he could not
    refrain from telling Mr Merdle verbally, as he had already done by
    letter, what honour and happiness he felt in this union of their
    families. And he offered his hand. Mr Merdle looked at the hand for a
    little while, took it on his for a moment as if his were a yellow salver
    or fish-slice, and then returned it to Mr Dorrit.

    'I thought I would drive round the first thing,' said Mr Merdle, 'to
    offer my services, in case I can do anything for you; and to say that
    I hope you will at least do me the honour of dining with me to-day, and
    every day when you are not better engaged during your stay in town.'

    Mr Dorrit was enraptured by these attentions.

    'Do you stay long, sir?'

    'I have not at present the intention,' said Mr Dorrit,
    'of--ha--exceeding a fortnight.'

    'That's a very short stay, after so long a journey,' returned Mr Merdle.

    'Hum. Yes,' said Mr Dorrit. 'But the truth is--ha--my dear Mr Merdle,
    that I find a foreign life so well suited to my health and taste, that
    I--hum--have but two objects in my present visit to London. First,
    the--ha--the distinguished happiness and--ha--privilege which I now
    enjoy and appreciate; secondly, the arrangement--hum--the laying out,
    that is to say, in the best way, of--ha, hum--my money.'

    'Well, sir,' said Mr Merdle, after turning his tongue again, 'if I can
    be of any use to you in that respect, you may command me.'

    Mr Dorrit's speech had had more hesitation in it than usual, as he
    approached the ticklish topic, for he was not perfectly clear how so
    exalted a potentate might take it. He had doubts whether reference to
    any individual capital, or fortune, might not seem a wretchedly retail
    affair to so wholesale a dealer. Greatly relieved by Mr Merdle's
    affable offer of assistance, he caught at it directly, and heaped
    acknowledgments upon him.

    'I scarcely--ha--dared,' said Mr Dorrit, 'I assure you, to hope for
    so--hum--vast an advantage as your direct advice and assistance. Though
    of course I should, under any circumstances, like the--ha, hum--rest of
    the civilised world, have followed in Mr Merdle's train.'

    'You know we may almost say we are related, sir,' said Mr Merdle,
    curiously interested in the pattern of the carpet, 'and, therefore, you
    may consider me at your service.'

    'Ha. Very handsome, indeed!' cried Mr Dorrit. 'Ha. Most handsome!'

    'It would not,' said Mr Merdle, 'be at the present moment easy for
    what I may call a mere outsider to come into any of the good things--of
    course I speak of my own good things--'

    'Of course, of course!' cried Mr Dorrit, in a tone implying that there
    were no other good things.

    '--Unless at a high price. At what we are accustomed to term a very long
    figure.'

    Mr Dorrit laughed in the buoyancy of his spirit. Ha, ha, ha! Long
    figure. Good. Ha. Very expressive to be sure!

    'However,' said Mr Merdle, 'I do generally retain in my own hands the
    power of exercising some preference--people in general would be pleased
    to call it favour--as a sort of compliment for my care and trouble.'

    'And public spirit and genius,' Mr Dorrit suggested.

    Mr Merdle, with a dry, swallowing action, seemed to dispose of those
    qualities like a bolus; then added, 'As a sort of return for it. I will
    see, if you please, how I can exert this limited power (for people are
            jealous, and it is limited), to your advantage.'

    'You are very good,' replied Mr Dorrit. 'You are _very_ good.'

    'Of course,' said Mr Merdle, 'there must be the strictest integrity
    and uprightness in these transactions; there must be the purest faith
    between man and man; there must be unimpeached and unimpeachable
    confidence; or business could not be carried on.'

    Mr Dorrit hailed these generous sentiments with fervour.

    'Therefore,' said Mr Merdle, 'I can only give you a preference to a
    certain extent.'

    'I perceive. To a defined extent,' observed Mr Dorrit.

    'Defined extent. And perfectly above-board. As to my advice, however,'
    said Mr Merdle, 'that is another matter. That, such as it is--'

    Oh! Such as it was! (Mr Dorrit could not bear the faintest appearance of
            its being depreciated, even by Mr Merdle himself.)

    '--That, there is nothing in the bonds of spotless honour between myself
    and my fellow-man to prevent my parting with, if I choose. And that,'
    said Mr Merdle, now deeply intent upon a dust-cart that was passing the
    windows, 'shall be at your command whenever you think proper.'

    New acknowledgments from Mr Dorrit. New passages of Mr Merdle's hand
    over his forehead. Calm and silence. Contemplation of Mr Dorrit's
    waistcoat buttons by Mr Merdle.

    'My time being rather precious,' said Mr Merdle, suddenly getting up,
    as if he had been waiting in the interval for his legs and they had just
    come, 'I must be moving towards the City. Can I take you anywhere, sir?
    I shall be happy to set you down, or send you on. My carriage is at your
    disposal.'

    Mr Dorrit bethought himself that he had business at his banker's. His
    banker's was in the City. That was fortunate; Mr Merdle would take
    him into the City. But, surely, he might not detain Mr Merdle while he
    assumed his coat? Yes, he might and must; Mr Merdle insisted on it. So
    Mr Dorrit, retiring into the next room, put himself under the hands of
    his valet, and in five minutes came back glorious.

    Then said Mr Merdle, 'Allow me, sir. Take my arm!' Then leaning on
    Mr Merdle's arm, did Mr Dorrit descend the staircase, seeing the
    worshippers on the steps, and feeling that the light of Mr Merdle shone
    by reflection in himself. Then the carriage, and the ride into the
    City; and the people who looked at them; and the hats that flew off grey
    heads; and the general bowing and crouching before this wonderful mortal
    the like of which prostration of spirit was not to be seen--no, by
    high Heaven, no! It may be worth thinking of by Fawners of all
    denominations--in Westminster Abbey and Saint Paul's Cathedral put
    together, on any Sunday in the year. It was a rapturous dream to Mr
    Dorrit to find himself set aloft in this public car of triumph, making a
    magnificent progress to that befitting destination, the golden Street of
    the Lombards.

    There Mr Merdle insisted on alighting and going his way a-foot, and
    leaving his poor equipage at Mr Dorrit's disposition. So the dream
    increased in rapture when Mr Dorrit came out of the bank alone, and
    people looked at _him_ in default of Mr Merdle, and when, with the ears of
    his mind, he heard the frequent exclamation as he rolled glibly along,
    'A wonderful man to be Mr Merdle's friend!'

    At dinner that day, although the occasion was not foreseen and provided
    for, a brilliant company of such as are not made of the dust of the
    earth, but of some superior article for the present unknown, shed
    their lustrous benediction upon Mr Dorrit's daughter's marriage. And Mr
    Dorrit's daughter that day began, in earnest, her competition with that
    woman not present; and began it so well that Mr Dorrit could all but
    have taken his affidavit, if required, that Mrs Sparkler had all her
    life been lying at full length in the lap of luxury, and had never heard
    of such a rough word in the English tongue as Marshalsea.

    Next day, and the day after, and every day, all graced by more dinner
    company, cards descended on Mr Dorrit like theatrical snow. As the
    friend and relative by marriage of the illustrious Merdle, Bar, Bishop,
    Treasury, Chorus, Everybody, wanted to make or improve Mr Dorrit's
    acquaintance. In Mr Merdle's heap of offices in the City, when Mr Dorrit
    appeared at any of them on his business taking him Eastward (which it
            frequently did, for it throve amazingly), the name of Dorrit was always
    a passport to the great presence of Merdle. So the dream increased in
    rapture every hour, as Mr Dorrit felt increasingly sensible that this
    connection had brought him forward indeed.

    Only one thing sat otherwise than auriferously, and at the same time
    lightly, on Mr Dorrit's mind. It was the Chief Butler. That stupendous
    character looked at him, in the course of his official looking at the
    dinners, in a manner that Mr Dorrit considered questionable. He looked
    at him, as he passed through the hall and up the staircase, going to
    dinner, with a glazed fixedness that Mr Dorrit did not like. Seated
    at table in the act of drinking, Mr Dorrit still saw him through his
    wine-glass, regarding him with a cold and ghostly eye. It misgave him
    that the Chief Butler must have known a Collegian, and must have seen
    him in the College--perhaps had been presented to him. He looked as
    closely at the Chief Butler as such a man could be looked at, and yet
    he did not recall that he had ever seen him elsewhere. Ultimately he was
    inclined to think that there was no reverence in the man, no sentiment
    in the great creature. But he was not relieved by that; for, let him
    think what he would, the Chief Butler had him in his supercilious eye,
    even when that eye was on the plate and other table-garniture; and he
    never let him out of it. To hint to him that this confinement in his eye
    was disagreeable, or to ask him what he meant, was an act too daring to
    venture upon; his severity with his employers and their visitors being
    terrific, and he never permitting himself to be approached with the
    slightest liberty.

 The happy couple is back in England and is welcomed very warmly by Merdle. Or rather, the already not-all-that happy couple is greeted in a limp and strange way by Merdle. But either way, Fanny sees that she is in the lap of ultimate luxury. Dorrit stays nearby in a hotel, and the next morning Merdle comes to see him. Dorrit is all pompous over-talking. Merdle is all meek and weird under-talking. Still, somehow they manage to exchange some compliments about joining families. Then Dorrit sneaks in his thoughts about where and how to invest his money. Merdle offers his own advice and even offers to use his power to get Dorrit into some choice and very selective investments. It'll be hard to arrange, but for Dorrit Merdle will try it. Oh, and also, these investments have to be done via gentleman's agreement, with none of your pesky low-class contracts. Oh joy! Dorrit is thrilled. Merdle offers him a ride into the City to go to his bank and move the money right away. Riding in the carriage with Merdle is totally amazing. Every single person in the street bows and takes off their hat. Everyone tries to figure out who Dorrit is. Dorrit, naturally, is beyond psyched. That night he has dinner with Merdle and starts to get to know the whole gang - Bar, Bishop, etc. Fanny shines and is clearly in her element. Only one thing bothers Dorrit - the Chief Butler makes him uneasy, like he knows about the prison.

