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Miss Clare and Miss Summerson go from Bleak House to visit Mr. and Mrs. Bayham Badger; but they come back to Bleak House. The whole story strays from Bleak House and plunges into the foul fogs of Chancery and the autumn mists of Chesney Wold; but the whole story comes back to Bleak House. The domestic title is appropriate; it is a permanent address.
If I could clear this mystery for her, or prove her to be well related, or find that having the honour to be a remote branch of your ladyship's family she had a right to be made a party in Jarndyce and Jarndyce, why, I might make a sort of a claim upon Miss Summerson to look with an eye of more dedicated favour on my proposals than she has exactly done as yet.
And yet I I, little Esther Summerson, the child who lived a life apart and on whose birthday there was no rejoicing seemed to arise before my own eyes, evoked out of the past by some power in this fashionable lady, whom I not only entertained no fancy that I had ever seen, but whom I perfectly well knew I had never seen until that hour.
"I am sure of that," said Sara Summerson. "During the game I was where I could see Miss Watson. Nothing escaped her. She watched every move Hester made. Emma was all right at first, but that foul put her on Miss Watson's black list. I could tell that. You know how Miss Watson presses her lips together and nods her head when she's pleased. Well, she did that every time Hester made a good play."
I heard so much about him, not only from Richard, but from my guardian too, that I was purposely in the room with my work one morning after breakfast when he came. "Good morning, Mr. George," said my guardian, who happened to be alone with me. "Mr. Carstone will be here directly. Meanwhile, Miss Summerson is very happy to see you, I know. Sit down."
"Oh, yes, his family is all very fine, Miss Summerson," replied Miss Jellyby; "but what comfort is his family to him? His family is nothing but bills, dirt, waste, noise, tumbles downstairs, confusion, and wretchedness. His scrambling home, from week's end to week's end, is like one great washing-day only nothing's washed!" Miss Jellyby tapped her foot upon the floor and wiped her eyes.
"I am Sara Summerson, one of last year's girls. I did not know until after dinner was over that you were here, a stranger and starving. The servants are in the dining-hall, so I asked Mrs. Hopkins if I might bring your dinner here." "I am so glad!" cried Hester. "Will you come in?" The invitation was not necessary.
"Are you well wrapped up, Miss Summerson?" he asked me as his eyes met mine. "It's a desperate sharp night for a young lady to be out in." I told him I cared for no weather and was warmly clothed. "It may be a long job," he observed; "but so that it ends well, never mind, miss." "I pray to heaven it may end well!" said I. He nodded comfortingly.
Bleak House has an exposed sound. But you are coming my way. Come along!" "For you, miss, if you please," said she. "For me?" said I. "The housekeeping keys, miss." I showed my surprise, for she added with some little surprise on her own part, "I was told to bring them as soon as you was alone, miss. Miss Summerson, if I don't deceive myself?" "Yes," said I. "That is my name."
Several young lady pupils, ranging from thirteen or fourteen years of age to two or three and twenty, were assembled; and I was looking among them for their instructor when Caddy, pinching my arm, repeated the ceremony of introduction. "Miss Summerson, Mr. Prince Turveydrop!"
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