f the  cold dislike that  generally
reigned there; Major Bagstock, much admired by the old ladies of Leamington,
and followed by the Native,  carrying  the  usual amount  of  light baggage,
straddled  along the shady side of the way, to  make  a morning  call on Mrs
Skewton. It  being midday when  the Major reached the bower of Cleopatra, he
had the  good fortune to find his  Princess on  her  usual sofa, languishing
over  a  cup  of coffee,  with the room so darkened and  shaded for her more
luxurious repose, that  Withers, who was in attendance on her, loomed like a
phantom page.
     'What insupportable creature  is this, coming in?' said Mrs Skewton, 'I
cannot hear it. Go away, whoever you are!'
     'You have not the heart to banish J. B., Ma'am!' said the Major halting
midway, to remonstrate, with his cane over his shoulder.
     'Oh it's you,  is  it?  On  second thoughts, you  may  enter,' observed
Cleopatra.
     The Major entered accordingly, and  advancing to  the sofa pressed  her
charming hand to his lips.
     'Sit down,' said Cleopatra, listlessly waving her fan, 'a long way off.
Don't come  too  near  me, for  I  am frightfully faint  and sensitive  this
morning, and you smell of the Sun. You are absolutely tropical.'
     'By  George,  Ma'am,'  said the  Major, 'the  time has been when Joseph
Bagstock  has been grilled and blistered by the Sun; then time was, when  he
was  forced, Ma'am, into such  full blow, by  high hothouse heat in the West
Indies,  that he was known as  the Flower. A man never  heard  of  Bagstock,
Ma'am, in  those days;  he  heard of the Flower -  the  Flower  of Ours. The
Flower may have faded,  more  or less, Ma'am,'  observed the Major, dropping
into a much nearer chair than had been indicated by his cruel Divinity, 'but
it is a tough plant yet, and constant as the evergreen.'
     Here  the Major, under  cover of the dark room, shut up one eye, rolled
his head like a Harlequin, and, in his great self-satisfaction, perhaps went
nearer to the confines of apoplexy than he had ever gone before.
     'Where is Mrs Granger?' inquired Cleopatra of her page.
     Withers believed she was in her own room.
     'Very well,' said  Mrs  Skewton. 'Go  away, and  shut  the  door. I  am
engaged.'
     As  Withers disappeared,  Mrs Skewton turned her head languidly towards
the Major, without otherwise moving, and asked him how his friend was.
     'Dombey,  Ma'am,' returned the Major, with a facetious gurgling  in his
throat, 'is  as well as a man  in  his condition can be.  His condition is a
desperate  one, Ma'am. He is touched, is Dombey! Touched!' cried  the Major.
'He is bayonetted through the body.'
     Cleopatra cast a sharp look at the Major, that contrasted forcibly with
the affected drawl in which she presently said:
     'Major Bagstock, although I know but  little of the world, - nor  can I
really regret  my experience,  for  I  fear  it  is  a  false place, full of
withering conventionalities: where Nature is but little regarded, and  where
the  music of the  heart, and the gushing  of the soul, and all that sort of
thing, which is so truly poetical, is seldom heard, - I cannot misunderstand
your meaning. There is an allusion to  Edith - to  my extremely dear child,'
said Mrs Skewton, tracing the outline of  her eyebrows with  her forefinger,
'in your words, to which the tenderest of chords vibrates excessively.'
     'Bluntness,   Ma'am,'   returned   the  Major,   'has  ever   been  the
characteristic of the Bagstock breed. You are right. Joe admits it.'
     'And that  allusion,' pursued Cleopatra, 'would involve one of the most
- if not positively the most - touching, and  thrilling, and sacred emotions
of which our sadly-fallen nature is susceptible, I conceive.'
     The Major laid  his hand upon his lips, and wafted a kiss to Cleopatra,
as if to identify the emotion in question.
     'I feel that I am weak.  I feel that I am wanting in that energy, which
should sustain a Mama: not to say  a parent:  on such a  subject,'  said Mrs
Skewton,  trimming her  lips with the laced edge of her pocket-handkerchief;
'but  I can hardly  approach  a topic so excessively momentous to my dearest
Edith  without a feeling  of faintness.  Nevertheless,  bad man, as you have
boldly remarked upon  it, and as  it has  occasioned me great anguish:'  Mrs
Skewton  touched  her left  side with her fan:  'I will not shrink  from  my
duty.'
     The Major, under cover of the dimness, swelled, and swelled, and rolled
his purple face about, and  winked his lobster eye, until he fell into a fit
of wheezing, which obliged  him  to rise and  take a  turn or  two about the
room, before his fair friend could proceed.
     'Mr Dombey,'  said  Mrs  Skewton,  when  she  at length  resumed,  'was
obliging enough, now  many weeks  ago,  to do  us the honour of  visiting us
here;  in company, my  dear Major, with yourself. I acknowledge - let  me be
open -  that it is my failing to be  the creature of impulse, and to wear my
heart as it were, outside. I know my failing full well. My enemy cannot know
it better.  But I  am  not penitent;  I would rather not  be  frozen by  the
heartless world, and am content to bear this imputation justly.'
     Mrs Skewton arranged her tucker, pinched her wiry  throat  to give it a
soft surface, and went on, with great complacency.
     'It  gave  me  (my dearest Edith too,  I am sure)  infinite pleasure to
receive Mr Dombey.  As a friend of  yours, my dear  Major, we were naturally
disposed to be prepossessed in his favour; and I fancied that I  observed an
amount of Heart in Mr Dombey, that was excessively refreshing.'
     'There is devilish little heart in Dombey now, Ma'am,' said the Major.
     'Wretched man!' cried Mrs Skewton,  looking at him languidly,  'pray be
silent.'
     'J. B. is dumb, Ma'am,' said the Major.
     'Mr Dombey,' pursued Cleopatra, smoothing the rosy hue upon her cheeks,
'accordingly repeated his visit; and possibly finding some attraction in the
simplicity and primitiveness of  our tastes - for there is always a charm in
nature  -  it is  so very  sweet - became  one of  our little  circle  every
evening. Little did I think of the awful responsibility into which I plunged
when I encouraged Mr Dombey - to -
     'To beat up these quarters, Ma'am,' suggested Major Bagstock.
     'Coarse person! 'said Mrs  Skewton,  'you anticipate my meaning, though
in odious language.
     Here Mrs Skewton rested her elbow on the little table at her side,  and
suffering her wrist to droop in what she considered a graceful  and becoming
manner,  dangled  her  fan to and  fro, and  lazily admired  her hand  while
speaking.
     'The agony I have endured,' she said mincingly, 'as  the  truth has  by
degrees dawned upon me, has been too exceedingly terrific to dilate upon. My
whole existence is bound up in my sweetest Edith; and to see her change from
day to  day  - my  beautiful  pet, who has positively garnered up her  heart
since  the death of that  most delightful  creature,  Granger -  is the most
affecting thing in the world.'
     Mrs Skewton's world was not a very trying one, if one might judge of it
by the  influence of its most affecting circumstance upon her;  but this  by
the way.
     'Edith,' simpered Mrs Skewton, 'who is the perfect pearl of my life, is
said to resemble me. I believe we are alike.'
     'There  is  one  man  in  the world  who never will  admit  that anyone
resembles  you, Ma'am,' said the  Major; 'and  that man's  name  is Old  Joe
Bagstock.'
     Cleopatra  made  as if she would brain the flatterer with her fan,  but
relenting, smiled upon him and proceeded:
     'If my charming girl inherits any advantages from me, wicked one!': the
Major  was  the  wicked one:  'she inherits also my foolish nature. She  has
great force of character - mine has been said to be immense,  though I don't
believe  it - but  once moved,  she is susceptible and sensitive to the last
extent. What are my feelings when I see her pining! They destroy me.
     The Major advancing his  double chin, and pursing up his blue lips into
a soothing expression, affected the profoundest sympathy.
     'The confidence,' said  Mrs Skewton,  'that has subsisted between us  -
the free development of  soul, and openness of  sentiment -  is  touching to
think of. We have been more like sisters than Mama and child.'
     'J. B.'s own sentiment,' observed the Major, 'expressed by  J. B. fifty
thousand times!'
     'Do not interrupt,  rude man!' said  Cleopatra. 'What  are my feelings,
then, when I find that there is one  subject avoided by us! That there is  a
what's-his-name - a gulf - opened between us.  That  my own artless Edith is
changed to me! They are of the most poignant description, of course.'
     The Major left his chair, and took one nearer to the little table.
     'From day to day I see  this,  my dear  Major,' proceeded Mrs  Skewton.
'From day to day I feel this. From hour to hour I  reproach myself for  that
excess  of  faith  and  trustfulness  which  has  led  to  such  distressing
consequences; and almost from minute to  minute, I hope that  Mr  Dombey may
explain  himself,  and relieve the torture  I  undergo,  which is  extremely
wearing. But nothing happens, my dear  Major; I am the  slave  of remorse  -
take care  of the  coffee-cup: you are so very awkward - my darling Edith is
an  altered being; and I really don't see  what is to be done,  or what good
creature I can advise with.'
     Major  Bagstock, encouraged  perhaps by the  softened and  confidential
tone into which  Mrs Skewton,  after several  times  lapsing into it  for  a
moment, seemed now to have subsided for good, stretched out his  hand across
the little table, and said with a leer,
     'Advise with Joe, Ma'am.'
     'Then, you aggravating monster,' said Cleopatra, giving one hand to the
Major,  and tapping his knuckles with her fan, which she held in  the other:
'why  don't  you talk to me? you  know what  I  mean.  Why don't you tell me
something to the purpose?'
     The Major laughed, and  kissed the  hand she had bestowed upon him, and
laughed again immensely.
     'Is  there  as much  Heart in Mr  Dombey as I  gave  him  credit  for?'
languished  Cleopatra tenderly.  'Do you  think  he is  in earnest, my  dear
Major? Would you recommend his being spoken to, or his being left alone? Now
tell me, like a dear man, what would you advise.'
     'Shall  we marry  him to  Edith Granger,  Ma'am?'  chuckled  the Major,
hoarsely.
     'Mysterious creature!' returned Cleopatra, bringing  her  fan  to  bear
upon the Major's nose. 'How can we marry him?'
     'Shall we marry him to Edith Granger, Ma'am, I say?' chuckled the Major
again.
     Mrs Skewton returned no answer in words, but smiled upon the Major with
so much archness and vivacity, that that gallant officer considering himself
challenged, would have imprinted a kiss on her exceedingly red lips, but for
her interposing the fan with a very winning and juvenile dexterity. It might
have been in modesty; it might  have  been in apprehension of some danger to
their bloom.
     'Dombey, Ma'am,' said the Major, 'is a great catch.'
     'Oh,  mercenary  wretch!' cried Cleopatra,  with a little shriek, 'I am
shocked.'
     'And Dombey, Ma'am,' pursued the Major, thrusting forward his head, and
distending his eyes, 'is in  earnest. Joseph says it; Bagstock knows it;  J.
B. keeps him to  the mark. Leave Dombey to  himself, Ma'am. Dombey is  safe,
Ma'am. Do as you have done; do no more; and trust to J. B. for the end.'
     'You really think so, my dear Major?' returned Cleopatra,  who had eyed
him very cautiously, and very searchingly, in spite of her listless bearing.
     'Sure of it, Ma'am,'  rejoined the Major. 'Cleopatra  the peerless, and
her Antony  Bagstock, will  often speak of this, triumphantly, when  sharing
the elegance and wealth of Edith Dombey's establishment. Dombey's right-hand
man, Ma'am,' said the Major, stopping  abruptly in a  chuckle,  and becoming
serious, 'has arrived.'
     'This morning?' said Cleopatra.
     'This morning,  Ma'am,' returned  the Major.  'And Dombey's anxiety for
his arrival, Ma'am, is to be  referred - take J. B.'s word for this; for Joe
is devilish sly' - the Major tapped his nose, and screwed up one of his eyes
tight: which did not enhance his native beauty - 'to his desire that what is
in  the  wind  should become known  to  him'  without  Dombey's telling  and
consulting  him.  For  Dombey  is  as proud, Ma'am,'  said  the  Major,  'as
Lucifer.'
     'A  charming quality,'  lisped Mrs  Skewton; 'reminding  one of dearest
Edith.'
     'Well, Ma'am,' said the Major.  'I have thrown  out hints  already, and
the right-hand man understands 'em; and I'll throw out  more, before the day
is done.  Dombey projected this  morning a ride  to Warwick  Castle, and  to
Kenilworth,  to-morrow, to be preceded  by a breakfast with us.  I undertook
the delivery of this invitation. Will you honour us so far, Ma'am?' said the
Major, swelling with shortness of breath and slyness, as he produced a note,
addressed  to  the  Honourable Mrs  Skewton,  by favour of  Major  Bagstock,
wherein hers ever faithfully, Paul Dombey, besought her and her  amiable and
accomplished daughter  to  consent  to  the proposed  excursion;  and  in  a
postscript unto which,  the same ever faithfully Paul Dombey entreated to be
recalled to the remembrance of Mrs Granger.
     'Hush!' said Cleopatra, suddenly, 'Edith!'
     The loving mother can scarcely be described as resuming her insipid and
affected air when she  made this exclamation; for she had never cast it off;
nor was it  likely that  she ever would or could, in any other place than in
the grave. But hurriedly dismissing whatever shadow of earnestness, or faint
confession of a purpose,  laudable  or wicked,  that her  face, or voice, or
manner: had, for the moment, betrayed, she  lounged upon the couch, her most
insipid and most languid self again, as Edith entered the room.
     Edith, so  beautiful  and stately, but  so  cold and so repelling. Who,
slightly acknowledging the presence of Major Bagstock,  and directing a keen
glance  at  her mother, drew  back the  from  a window, and sat  down there,
looking out.
     'My dearest Edith,' said Mrs Skewton, 'where on earth have you been?  I
have wanted you, my love, most sadly.'
     'You said  you were engaged, and I stayed away,'  she answered, without
turning her head.
     'It was cruel to Old Joe, Ma'am,' said the Major in his gallantry.
     'It  was  very cruel, I  know,' she said,  still looking out - and said
with such calm  disdain, that the Major was  discomfited, and could think of
nothing in reply.
     'Major  Bagstock,  my darling  Edith,'  drawled  her  mother,  'who  is
generally the most useless and disagreeable  creature  in the  world: as you
know - '
     'It is surely not worthwhile,  Mama,' said Edith,  looking  round,  'to
observe these forms of speech. We are quite alone. We know each other.'
     The  quiet scorn  that  sat upon  her  handsome face  -  a  scorn  that
evidently lighted  on herself, no less than  them - was so intense and deep,
that her mother's simper, for the instant, though  of a  hardy constitution,
drooped before it.
     'My darling girl,' she began again.
     'Not woman yet?' said Edith, with a smile.
     'How  very odd you are to-day, my dear! Pray let me say, my love,  that
Major Bagstock has  brought the kindest of notes from Mr  Dombey,  proposing
that  we  should breakfast  with  him to-morrow,  and  ride  to Warwick  and
Kenilworth. Will you go, Edith?'
     'Will I go!' she  repeated, turning very red, and breathing  quickly as
she looked round at her mother.
     'I knew you would, my own, observed the  latter carelessly.  'It is, as
you say, quite a form to ask. Here is Mr Dombey's letter, Edith.'
     'Thank you. I have no desire to read it,' was her answer.
     'Then perhaps I had better answer it myself,' said Mrs Skewton, 'though
I had thought of asking you to be my secretary, darling.'  As Edith  made no
movement, and  no answer, Mrs  Skewton begged  the Major to wheel her little
table nearer, and to set open the desk it contained, and to take out pen and
paper  for  her;  all  which  congenial  offices   of  gallantry  the  Major
discharged, with much submission and devotion.
     'Your regards, Edith, my dear?' said Mrs Skewton, pausing, pen in hand,
at the postscript.
     'What you will, Mama,' she answered, without turning her head, and with
supreme indifference.
     Mrs Skewton wrote what she would, without seeking for any more explicit
directions, and  handed  her  letter to the  Major, who  receiving it  as  a
precious charge,  made a show of  laying it  near his heart, but was fain to
put it in the pocket of  his pantaloons on  account of the insecurity of his
waistcoat  The Major  then took a  very polished  and chivalrous farewell of
both ladies, which the elder one acknowledged in her usual manner, while the
younger,  sitting  with her face addressed to  the window, bent her  head so
slightly that it would have  been a greater compliment to the Major  to have
made  no sign at all,  and to  have left him to infer  that he had not  been
heard or thought of.
     'As  to  alteration in her, Sir,' mused the Major  on his way  back; on
which expedition - the afternoon being sunny and hot - he ordered the Native
and the  light  baggage to  the  front, and walked  in  the  shadow  of that
expatriated prince: 'as to alteration, Sir,  and pining, and  so forth, that
won't go down with Joseph Bagstock, None of that, Sir. It won't do here. But
as to there being something of  a  division between 'em  - or a  gulf as the
mother calls  it - damme, Sir, that seems true enough. And it's odd  enough!
Well, Sir!' panted  the  Major,  'Edith Granger and Dombey are well matched;
let 'em fight it out! Bagstock backs the winner!'
     The Major, by  saying these latter  words  aloud,  in the vigour of his
thoughts, caused the unhappy Native to stop, and turn  round,  in the belief
that he was personally addressed. Exasperated to the last degree by this act
of insubordination, the Major (though he was swelling with enjoyment of  his
own humour, at the moment of  its occurrence instantly thrust his cane among
the Native's ribs, and continued to stir him up, at short intervals, all the
way to the hotel.
     Nor was the Major  less  exasperated as he dressed for  dinner,  during
which  operation  the dark servant  underwent  the  pelting of  a  shower of
miscellaneous objects,  varying  in  size from  a boot to  a hairbrush,  and
including  everything  that came within his  master's  reach. For  the Major
plumed himself on having the Native in a perfect state of drill, and visited
the least departure  from strict  discipline with this kind of fatigue duty.
Add  to  this,  that  he  maintained  the  Native  about  his  person  as  a
counter-irritant against the gout,  and all other  vexations, mental as well
as bodily; and the  Native would appear to have earned his pay -  which  was
not large.
     At  length,  the Major having disposed  of all the  missiles that  were
convenient  to his  hand, and having called the Native  so many new names as
must have given him great occasion to marvel at the resources of the English
language,  submitted to  have  his cravat  put on;  and  being  dressed, and
finding  himself  in a  brisk  flow  of  spirits after this  exercise,  went
downstairs to enliven 'Dombey' and his right-hand man.
     Dombey was not yet in the  room, but the right-hand man was  there, and
his dental treasures were, as usual, ready for the Major.
     'Well, Sir!'  said the Major. 'How have you passed the time since I had
the happiness of meeting you? Have you walked at all?'
     'A saunter of  barely half  an  hour's  duration,' returned Carker. 'We
have been so much occupied.'
     'Business, eh?' said the Major.
     'A  variety of  little matters necessary to  be gone through,'  replied
Carker. 'But do  you  know -  this is quite  unusual with me, educated  in a
distrustful school, and who am not generally disposed to be  communicative,'
he said, breaking off, and speaking in a charming tone of frankness - 'but I
feel quite confidential with you, Major Bagstock.'
     'You do me honour, Sir,' returned the Major. 'You may be.'
     'Do you know, then,' pursued Carker, 'that I have not found my friend -
our friend, I ought rather to call him - '
     'Meaning  Dombey,  Sir?'  cried  the Major.  'You see  me,  Mr  Carker,
standing here! J. B.?'
     He was puffy enough to  see, and blue enough; and  Mr Carker  intimated
the he had that pleasure.
     'Then you see a  man, Sir, who would go through fire and water to serve
Dombey,' returned Major Bagstock.
     Mr Carker smiled, and said he was sure of it. 'Do you  know, Major,' he
proceeded: 'to resume where I left off' that I have not found our  friend so
attentive to business today, as usual?'
     'No?' observed the delighted Major.
     'I have found him a little abstracted, and  with his attention disposed
to wander,' said Carker.
     'By Jove, Sir,' cried the Major, 'there's a lady in the case.'
     'Indeed,  I begin  to  believe  there really is,'  returned  Carker; 'I
thought you might be jesting when you seemed  to hint  at it; for I know you
military men -
     The Major gave  the horse's cough, and shook his head and shoulders, as
much as to say, 'Well! we are gay  dogs, there's no denying.' He then seized
Mr Carker by the  button-hole, and with starting eyes  whispered in his ear,
that  she was a woman  of extraordinary charms, Sir.  That she  was a  young
widow, Sir. That she was  of a fine family, Sir. That Dombey  was  over head
and ears in love with her,  Sir, and that it would be  a good match  on both
sides;  for she had  beauty,  blood, and talent, and Dombey had fortune; and
what more could any couple have? Hearing Mr Dombey's  footsteps without, the
Major cut himself short  by saying, that  Mr  Carker would  see her tomorrow
morning, and would judge for himself; and between his mental excitement, and
the exertion of saying all this in  wheezy  whispers, the Major sat gurgling
in the throat and watering at the eyes, until dinner was ready.
     The  Major, like some other noble animals, exhibited himself  to  great
advantage at feeding-time. On this occasion, he shone resplendent at one end
of the table, supported by the milder  lustre  of Mr Dombey  at  the  other;
while Carker on  one  side  lent  his ray to either light, or suffered it to
merge into both, as occasion arose.
     During the first course or two,  the Major  was usually grave; for  the
Native,  in obedience  to general orders,  secretly issued, collected  every
sauce  and cruet round him, and gave him a great deal  to do, in taking  out
the stoppers, and mixing up  the contents in  his plate. Besides  which, the
Native had private zests and  flavours on a side-table, with which the Major
daily scorched himself; to say nothing of strange machines  out of which  he
spirited unknown liquids into the Major's drink. But on this occasion, Major
Bagstock, even amidst these many occupations, found time  to be social;  and
his  sociality consisted  in excessive slyness for the  behoof of Mr Carker,
and the betrayal of Mr Dombey's state of mind.
     'Dombey,' said the Major, 'you don't eat; what's the matter?'
     'Thank you,' returned the gentleman, 'I am  doing very well; I  have no
great appetite today.'
     'Why, Dombey, what's become of it?' asked  the Major. 'Where's it gone?
You haven't left it with our friends, I'll swear, for I can answer for their
having none to-day at  luncheon. I  can answer for one of  'em, at  least: I
won't say which.'
     Then  the Major winked at Carker, and became so frightfully  sly,  that
his dark attendant was obliged to pat him on the back, without orders, or he
would probably have disappeared under the table.
     In a later stage of the dinner:  that is to say, when the  Native stood
at the Major's elbow ready to serve the first bottle of champagne: the Major
became still slyer.
     'Fill this to  the brim, you scoundrel,' said the Major, holding up his
glass.  'Fill Mr  Carker's to  the brim too. And Mr Dombey's  too.  By  Gad,
gentlemen,'  said the Major, winking  at  his  new  friend, while Mr  Dombey
looked into his  plate with a conscious air, 'we'll consecrate this glass of
wine  to  a Divinity whom Joe is proud to know, and at a distance humbly and
reverently to admire. Edith,' said the Major, 'is her name; angelic Edith!'
     'To angelic Edith!' cried the smiling Carker.
     'Edith, by all means,' said Mr Dombey.
     The  entrance  of the  waiters  with new  dishes caused the Major to be
slyer  yet,  but in a more serious vein.  'For though  among  ourselves, Joe
Bagstock  mingles jest  and earnest on this subject, Sir,'  said the  Major,
laying his finger on his lips, and speaking half apart to  Carker, 'he holds
that name too  sacred  to be  made the property of these fellows,  or of any
fellows. Not a word!, Sir' while they are here!'
     This was respectful  and becoming  on  the Major's  part, and Mr Dombey
plainly  felt it so.  Although embarrassed  in  his own  frigid way, by  the
Major's allusions,  Mr  Dombey  had no objection to  such rallying,  it  was
clear, but  rather courted  it.  Perhaps the Major  had been pretty near the
truth, when  he  had  divined that  morning  that the  great man who was too
haughty  formally to consult with, or confide in his prime minister, on such
a  matter,  yet wished him  to  be fully possessed of it. Let this be how it
may,  he  often  glanced  at  Mr  Carker  while  the  Major  plied his light
artillery, and seemed watchful of its effect upon him.
     But  the  Major, having secured an attentive listener, and a smiler who
had not his match in all  the world - 'in short,  a devilish intelligent and
able fellow,' as he often afterwards declared - was not going to let him off
with a  little slyness personal to Mr Dombey. Therefore,  on  the removal of
the cloth, the Major developed himself as a choice spirit in the broader and
more comprehensive range  of  narrating  regimental  stories,  and  cracking
regimental  jokes, which he  did  with such prodigal exuberance, that Carker
was (or feigned  to be) quite  exhausted with laughter and admiration: while
Mr  Dombey  looked on over his starched cravat, like the Major's proprietor,
or like a stately showman who was glad to see his bear dancing well.
     When the Major was  too hoarse with meat and drink, and the display  of
his social powers, to render himself intelligible any longer, they adjourned
to coffee.  After which, the Major inquired of Mr Carker  the Manager,  with
little apparent hope of an answer in the affirmative, if he played picquet.
     'Yes, I play picquet a little,' said Mr Carker.
     'Backgammon, perhaps?' observed the Major, hesitating.
     'Yes, I play backgammon a little too,' replied the man of teeth.
     'Carker  plays at all games, I believe,' said Mr Dombey, laying himself
on a sofa  like a man of wood, without a hinge or a joint in him; 'and plays
them well.'
     In sooth, he played  the two in  question, to such perfection, that the
Major was astonished, and asked him, at random, if he played chess.
     'Yes,  I  play  chess  a little,' answered  Carker. 'I  have  sometimes
played, and won a game - it's a mere trick - without seeing the board.'
     'By Gad, Sir!' said the Major,  staring, 'you are a contrast to Dombey,
who plays nothing.'
     'Oh! He!' returned the Manager.  'He  has never had occasion to acquire
such little arts. To men like me, they  are sometimes useful. As at present,
Major Bagstock, when they enable me to take a hand with you.'
     It  might be only  the  false  mouth, so smooth and wide; and yet there
seemed to lurk beneath the humility and subserviency of this short speech, a
something like a snarl; and, for  a moment, one might  have thought that the
white teeth  were prone to bite the hand they  fawned  upon. But  the  Major
thought nothing about it;  and Mr Dombey  lay meditating with his  eyes half
shut, during the whole of the play, which lasted until bed-time.
     By that time, Mr Carker,  though the winner, had mounted high into  the
Major's good opinion, insomuch that when he  left the Major at his  own room
before going to bed, the Major as a special attention, sent the Native - who
always  rested  on a mattress spread upon  the ground at his master's door -
along the gallery, to light him to his room in state.
     There  was a  faint blur  on  the  surface of the mirror in Mr Carker's
chamber, and its reflection was, perhaps, a false  one. But it  showed, that
night, the  image  of a  man,  who  saw, in his  fancy,  a  crowd of  people
slumbering on the ground at his feet, like the  poor Native at his  master's
door:  who picked his way among them: looking  down, maliciously enough: but
trod upon no upturned face - as yet.

        CHAPTER 27.
     Deeper Shadows

     Mr Carker the Manager rose  with the lark, and went out, walking in the
summer day. His  meditations - and he  meditated with contracted brows while
he strolled along - hardly seemed to soar as high as  the lark, or to  mount
in  that direction; rather they kept close to their nest upon the earth, and
looked about, among the dust and worms. But there was not a bird in the air,
singing  unseen,  farther  beyond the reach of  human eye  than  Mr Carker's
thoughts. He had his face  so  perfectly under control, that  few could  say
more, in  distinct terms, of its expression, than that it smiled or that  it
pondered. It pondered now, intently. As the lark rose higher, he sank deeper
in  thought. As the lark poured out her melody clearer and stronger, he fell
into a graver and profounder silence. At length, when the lark came headlong
down, with an accumulating stream of song, and dropped among the green wheat
near him,  rippling  in the breath of the morning like a river, he sprang up
from his  reverie, and looked round with a sudden smile, as courteous and as
soft as if he had had numerous observers  to propitiate; nor did he relapse,
after  being  thus awakened; but clearing his face,  like one  who bethought
himself that it might otherwise wrinkle and  tell tales, went smiling on, as
if for practice.
     Perhaps with  an eye to first impressions, Mr Carker was very carefully
and  trimly  dressed,  that morning.  Though always somewhat formal, in  his
dress, in imitation of the great man whom he served, he stopped short of the
extent of  Mr Dombey's stiffness: at  once perhaps because he knew it  to be
ludicrous, and  because in doing so he found another means of expressing his
sense of  the difference and distance between them. Some people  quoted  him
indeed, in this respect, as a  pointed commentary, and not a flattering one,
on his icy patron - but the world is prone to misconstruction, and Mr Carker
was not accountable for its bad propensity.
     Clean and florid:  with his light complexion, fading as it were, in the
sun, and his dainty step enhancing  the softness of  the turf: Mr Carker the
Manager strolled about meadows, and green lanes, and glided among avenues of
trees, until it was time  to return to breakfast. Taking a  nearer way back,
Mr Carker pursued it, airing his teeth, and said aloud as he did so, 'Now to
see the second Mrs Dombey!'
     He had strolled beyond the town, and re-entered  it by a pleasant walk,
where there  was  a deep shade of leafy  trees, and  where there were a  few
benches here and  there for those who chose to rest. It not being a place of
general resort at any  hour, and wearing  at that  time of the still morning
the air of being quite deserted and retired, Mr Carker had it, or thought he
had it, all to himself. So, with the whim of  an idle man, to whom there yet
remained twenty minutes for  reaching a  destination easily able in ten,  Mr
Carker threaded the great boles of the trees, and  went passing  in and out,
before this one and  behind that, weaving  a chain of footsteps on the  dewy
ground.
     But  he  found  he  was mistaken in supposing there was no one  in  the
grove, for as he softly rounded the trunk of one large tree,  on  which  the
obdurate  bark was knotted and overlapped like the  hide of a  rhinoceros or
some kindred monster of  the  ancient  days  before  the Flood,  he  saw  an
unexpected figure sitting on a  bench near at  hand, about which, in another
moment, he would have wound the chain he was making.
     It was that of a lady, elegantly dressed and very  handsome, whose dark
proud eyes were fixed  upon the ground, and in whom some passion or struggle
was raging. For as  she sat looking down, she held a corner of her under lip
within her mouth, her bosom heaved, her nostril quivered, her head trembled,
indignant tears were on her cheek,  and  her foot was set  upon the  moss as
though  she would have crushed it into nothing. And yet almost the self-same
glance  that  showed him this,  showed him the self-same lady rising with  a
scornful  air  of weariness and lassitude, and  turning  away  with  nothing
expressed in face or figure but careless beauty and imperious disdain.
     A withered and very ugly old woman, dressed not so much like a gipsy as
like  any  of that  medley race of  vagabonds who tramp  about the  country,
begging,  and stealing, and tinkering, and weaving rushes,  by turns, or all
together,  had been observing the lady, too; for,  as  she rose, this second
figure strangely confronting the first,  scrambled up from the ground  - out
of it, it almost appeared - and stood in the way.
     'Let  me  tell  your  fortune, my  pretty  lady,'  said the old  woman,
munching with her jaws, as if the Death's Head beneath  her yellow skin were
impatient to get out.
     'I can tell it for myself,' was the reply.
     'Ay, ay, pretty lady; but not right. You didn't tell  it right when you
were  sitting there. I see you! Give me a piece of  silver, pretty lady, and
I'll tell your fortune true. There's riches, pretty lady, in your face.'
     'I know,' returned the lady, passing her with a dark smile, and a proud
step. 'I knew it before.
     'What! You won't give me nothing?' cried the old woman. 'You won't give
me nothing to tell your fortune, pretty lady? How  much will you  give me to
tell  it, then? Give me something, or I'll call it  after  you!' croaked the
old woman, passionately.
     Mr Carker, whom  the lady was about to pass close, slinking against his
tree as  she crossed  to gain  the  path,  advanced so  as  to meet her, and
pulling off his hat as she  went by, bade the old woman hold her peace.  The
lady acknowledged his interference with an inclination of the head, and went
her way.
     'You give me something  then, or I'll call it after  her!' screamed the
old  woman,  throwing  up  her  arms,  and   pressing  forward  against  his
outstretched  hand.  'Or  come,'  she  added,  dropping her voice  suddenly,
looking at him earnestly,  and seeming  in a moment  to forget the object of
her wrath, 'give me something, or I'll call it after you! '
     'After me,  old lady!'  returned the Manager, putting  his hand in  his
pocket.
     'Yes,' said the woman, steadfast in  her scrutiny, and  holding out her
shrivelled hand. 'I know!'
     'What do you know?' demanded  Carker, throwing her  a shilling. 'Do you
know who the handsome lady is?'
     Munching like that sailor's wife of yore, who had chestnuts In her lap,
and scowling like the witch who asked for some in vain, the old woman picked
the shilling  up, and going backwards, like a crab, or like a heap of crabs:
for  her alternately expanding and contracting hands might  have represented
two of that species, and her creeping face, some half-a-dozen more: crouched
on the veinous root of  an  old  tree,  pulled  out a short  black pipe from
within the crown of her  bonnet,  lighted  it  with a  match, and  smoked in
silence, looking fixedly at her questioner.
     Mr Carker laughed, and turned upon his heel.
     'Good!' said the old woman. 'One child dead, and  one child living: one
wife dead, and one wife coming. Go and meet her!'
     In  spite of himself,  the Manager looked round again, and stopped. The
old woman, who had not removed her pipe, and was munching and mumbling while
she smoked, as if  in conversation with an  invisible familiar, pointed with
her finger in the direction he was going, and laughed.
     'What was that you said, Beldamite?' he demanded.
     The woman  mumbled, and chattered, and smoked, and still pointed before
him; but remained silent Muttering a farewell that was not complimentary, Mr
Carker pursued his way;  but as he turned out of that place, and looked over
his  shoulder  at  the root  of the  old tree, he could yet see  the  finger
pointing before him, and  thought he heard the woman screaming, 'Go and meet
her!'
     Preparations  for a  choice repast were completed,  he  found,  at  the
hotel; and Mr Dombey, and the Major,  and the  breakfast, were  awaiting the
ladies. Individual constitution has much to do with the development  of such
facts,  no doubt; but  in this case,  appetite carried  it  hollow  over the
tender  passion; Mr  Dombey being  very  cool  and collected, and  the Major
fretting and fuming in a state of violent heat and irritation. At length the
door was thrown open by  the  Native, and,  after a  pause, occupied  by her
languishing along the gallery, a very blooming, but not very  youthful lady,
appeared.
     'My dear Mr Dombey,' said the lady, 'I am afraid we are late, but Edith
has  been out already looking  for a favourable point of view  for a sketch,
and  kept  me  waiting  for her. Falsest of  Majors,' giving  him her little
finger, 'how do you do?'
     'Mrs Skewton,'  said Mr Dombey, 'let me gratify  my friend  Carker:' Mr
Dombey  unconsciously emphasised the word friend, as saying "no really; I do
allow him to  take credit for that distinction:" 'by presenting him to  you.
You have heard me mention Mr Carker.'
     'I am charmed, I am sure,' said Mrs Skewton, graciously.
     Mr Carker was charmed, of course. Would he have been more charmed on Mr
Dombey's  behalf, if Mrs Skewton had been  (as he at first supposed her) the
Edith whom they had toasted overnight?
     'Why, where,  for Heaven's  sake, is  Edith?'  exclaimed  Mrs  Skewton,
looking round.  'Still at the door, giving Withers orders about the mounting
of those drawings! My dear Mr Dombey, will you have the kindness -
     Mr  Dombey  was  already  gone  to seek her.  Next moment  he returned,
bearing on his arm the same elegantly dressed and very handsome lady whom Mr
Carker had encountered underneath the trees.
     'Carker - ' began Mr Dombey. But their recognition of each other was so
manifest, that Mr Dombey stopped surprised.
     'I am obliged to the  gentleman,' said Edith, with a stately bend, 'for
sparing me some annoyance from an importunate beggar just now.'
     'I am obliged to my good fortune,' said Mr Carker, bowing low, 'for the
opportunity of rendering so slight a service to one whose servant I am proud
to be.'
     As her eye  rested  on  him for an  instant,  and then  lighted on  the
ground,  he saw in  its bright and searching glance  a suspicion that he had
not come up at the moment of his interference, but had secretly observed her
sooner. As he saw that, she saw in his eye that her distrust was not without
foundation.
     'Really,'  cried  Mrs  Skewton,  who  had  taken  this  opportunity  of
inspecting  Mr Carker through  her  glass,  and satisfying  herself (as  she
lisped audibly to the Major) that he was all heart; 'really now, this is one
of  the most  enchanting coincidences that  I  ever heard  of. The idea!  My
dearest Edith, there is such an obvious destiny in it, that really one might
almost be  induced to cross one's arms upon one's frock, and say, like those
wicked   Turks,   there   is   no   What's-his-name   but   Thingummy,   and
What-you-may-call-it is his prophet!'
     Edith designed  no revision  of this  extraordinary quotation from  the
Koran, but Mr Dombey felt it necessary to offer a few polite remarks.
     'It gives me great pleasure,' said Mr Dombey, with  cumbrous gallantry,
'that a  gentleman so nearly connected with myself as Carker is, should have
had the honour and  happiness  of  rendering the  least  assistance  to  Mrs
Granger.'  Mr  Dombey bowed to  her. 'But  it  gives  me  some  pain, and it
occasions  me to be really  envious of Carker;' he unconsciously laid stress
on  these  words,  as sensible  that  they  must  appear  to  involve a very
surprising proposition; 'e