 some evil old ruffian of a Dog-stealer will
annually be found embodying all the cardinal virtues, on account of his
eyelashes, or his chin, or his legs (thereby planting thorns of confusion in the
breasts of the more observant students of nature), so, in the great social
Exhibition, accessories are often accepted in lieu of the internal character.
    Calling these things to mind, and ranging Mr. Pancks in a row with them,
Arthur Clennam leaned this day to the opinion, without quite deciding on it,
that the last of the Patriarchs was the drifting Booby aforesaid, with the one
idea of keeping the bald part of his head highly polished: and that, much as an
unwieldy ship in the Thames river may sometimes be seen heavily driving with the
tide, broadside on, stern first, in its own way and in the way of everything
else, though making a great show of navigation, when all of a sudden, a little
coaly steam-tug will bear down upon it, take it in tow, and bustle off with it;
similarly the cumbrous Patriarch had been taken in tow by the snorting Pancks,
and was now following in the wake of that dingy little craft.
    The return of Mr. Casby, with his daughter Flora, put an end to these
meditations. Clennam's eyes no sooner fell upon the subject of his old passion,
than it shivered and broke to pieces.
    Most men will be found sufficiently true to themselves to be true to an old
idea. It is no proof of an inconstant mind, but exactly the opposite, when the
idea will not bear close comparison with the reality, and the contrast is a
fatal shock to it. Such was Clennam's case. In his youth he had ardently loved
this woman, and had heaped upon her all the locked-up wealth of his affection
and imagination. That wealth had been, in his desert home, like Robinson
Crusoe's money; exchangeable with no one, lying idle in the dark to rust, until
he poured it out for her. Ever since that memorable time, though he had, until
the night of his arrival, as completely dismissed her from any association with
his Present or Future as if she had been dead (which she might easily have been
for anything he knew), he had kept the old fancy of the Past unchanged, in its
old sacred place. And now, after all, the last of the Patriarchs coolly walked
into the parlour, saying in effect, »Be good enough to throw it down and dance
upon it. This is
