ts  would  exclaim. - 'Is Miss Dombey
there?'
     Whereupon Florence would appear, perhaps.
     'Oh, Diogenes is quite well,  Miss Dombey,' Toots would  cry. 'I called
to ask this morning.'
     'Thank you very much!' the pleasant voice of Florence would reply.
     'Won't you  come  ashore,  Toots?' Sir Barnet  would say  then.  'Come!
you're in no hurry. Come and see us.'
     'Oh, it's  of no  consequence,  thank you!'  Mr  Toots would blushingly
rejoin. 'I thought  Miss  Dombey might like to know, that's  all. Good-bye!'
And poor  Mr Toots, who was dying to accept the  invitation, but hadn't  the
courage to do it, signed to the Chicken, with an aching heart, and away went
the Joy, cleaving the water like an arrow.
     The Joy was lying in  a state of extraordinary splendour, at the garden
steps, on the morning of Florence's  departure. When she went  downstairs to
take leave, after her talk  with  Susan, she found  Mr Toots awaiting her in
the drawing-room.
     'Oh,  how  de  do,  Miss  Dombey?'  said  the  stricken  Toots,  always
dreadfully disconcerted  when the desire of his heart was gained, and he was
speaking to her; 'thank you, I'm very well  indeed,  I hope you're the same,
so was Diogenes yesterday.'
     'You are very kind,' said Florence.
     'Thank you,  it's  of  no  consequence,' retorted Mr Toots. 'I  thought
perhaps you wouldn't mind, in  this fine weather, coming home by water, Miss
Dombey. There's plenty of room in the boat for your maid.'
     'I  am very  much obliged to you,' said Florence, hesitating. 'I really
am - but I would rather not.'
     'Oh, it's of no consequence,' retorted Mr Toots. 'Good morning.'
     'Won't you wait and see Lady Skettles?' asked Florence, kindly.
     'Oh no, thank you,' returned Mr Toots, 'it's of no consequence at all.'
     So  shy was  Mr Toots  on  such occasions,  and so flurried!  But  Lady
Skettles entering at the moment, Mr Toots was suddenly seized with a passion
for asking her how she did, and hoping she was very well; nor could Mr Toots
by any possibility  leave  off shaking  hands  with her,  until  Sir  Barnet
appeared: to whom he immediately clung with the tenacity of desperation.
     'We are  losing,  today,  Toots,'  said  Sir  Barnet,  turning  towards
Florence, 'the light of our house, I assure you'
     'Oh, it's  of  no  conseq -  I mean yes,  to  be  sure,'  faltered  the
embarrassed Mr Toots. 'Good morning!'
     Notwithstanding the emphatic nature of this farewell, Mr Toots, instead
of going away, stood leering about him, vacantly. Florence, to relieve  him,
bade adieu,  with many  thanks, to  Lady Skettles, and gave her  arm  to Sir
Barnet.
     'May I beg of you, my dear Miss Dombey,' said her host, as he conducted
her to the carriage, 'to present my best compliments to your dear Papa?'
     It was distressing to Florence to  receive the commission, for she felt
as  if she were imposing on  Sir Barnet by  allowing him to  believe  that a
kindness  rendered to her,  was  rendered to her father.  As  she  could not
explain, however, she bowed her  head and thanked him; and again she thought
that the dull home, free from such embarrassments, and such reminders of her
sorrow, was her natural and best retreat.
     Such of her late friends and companions as  were  yet remaining at  the
villa, came running from within, and from  the garden, to say good-bye. They
were all attached to her, and very earnest in taking leave of her.  Even the
household  were  sorry for  her  going, and  the  servants  came nodding and
curtseying round  the carriage  door. As  Florence looked round on the  kind
faces, and saw among them those of Sir Barnet and his lady, and of Mr Toots,
who was chuckling and  staring at her from a distance,  she was  reminded of
the  night when Paul and she  had come from Doctor Blimber's:  and when  the
carriage drove away, her face was wet with tears.
     Sorrowful  tears,  but tears of  consolation, too;  for all  the softer
memories connected with  the  dull old house to which she was returning made
it  dear to  her, as they rose up. How long it seemed since she had wandered
through the silent rooms: since she had last  crept, softly and afraid, into
those her  father occupied: since she had felt the solemn but  yet  soothing
influence of the beloved  dead in every action of her daily life!  This  new
farewell  reminded her, besides,  of her parting  with poor  Walter:  of his
looks and words that night: and of the gracious blending she  had noticed in
him,  of tenderness for those he  left behind, with courage and high spirit.
His little history was associated with the old house too, and  gave it a new
claim and hold  upon her heart. Even Susan  Nipper softened towards the home
of so  many years, as they were on their way towards  it. Gloomy as  it was,
and rigid justice as she rendered to its gloom, she forgave it a great deal.
'I  shall be glad to see it again, I  don't  deny, Miss,'  said the  Nipper.
'There ain't much in it to boast  of, but I wouldn't have it burnt or pulled
down, neither!'
     'You'll be glad to  go through  the old rooms, won't  you, Susan?' said
Florence, smiling.
     'Well, Miss,'  returned the Nipper, softening more and more towards the
house, as they approached it nearer, 'I won't deny but  what I shall, though
I shall hate 'em again, to-morrow, very likely.'
     Florence felt that,  for  her,  there was greater  peace within it than
elsewhere. It was better  and easier to keep her secret shut up there, among
the tall dark walls, than to carry it abroad into the light, and try to hide
it from a  crowd of happy eyes. It was  better  to  pursue  the study of her
loving  heart, alone, and find no new discouragements in loving hearts about
her. It was easier to hope, and pray, and love on, all uncared for, yet with
constancy and patience,  in  the  tranquil  sanctuary  of such remembrances:
although it mouldered,  rusted, and decayed about her: than  in a new scene,
let its gaiety  be what it would. She welcomed  back her old enchanted dream
of life, and longed for the old dark door to close upon her, once again.
     Full of  such  thoughts,  they turned into the long and  sombre street.
Florence was not on that side of the carriage which was nearest to her home,
and as  the distance lessened  between them and it,  she looked  out of  her
window for the children over the way.
     She was thus engaged, when an exclamation from Susan caused her to turn
quickly round.
     'Why, Gracious me!' cried Susan, breathless, 'where's our house!'
     'Our house!' said Florence.
     Susan, drawing in her head from the window,  thrust it  out again, drew
it  in  again as  the  carriage  stopped,  and  stared  at  her  mistress in
amazement.
     There was a labyrinth of scaffolding raised all  round the house,  from
the basement to the roof. Loads of bricks and stones,  and heaps  of mortar,
and piles of wood, blocked up half the width and length  of the broad street
at  the side. Ladders were raised against the walls; labourers were climbing
up and down;  men were at work upon  the steps of  the scaffolding; painters
and decorators were busy inside; great rolls of  ornamental paper were being
delivered from a cart at the door; an  upholsterer's waggon also stopped the
way;  no furniture was to be  seen through the gaping and broken windows  in
any  of the  rooms; nothing but workmen, and the implements of their several
trades, swarming from the kitchens to the garrets. Inside and outside alike:
bricklayers, painters, carpenters, masons: hammer, hod, brush, pickaxe, saw,
and trowel: all at work together, in full chorus!
     Florence descended from the coach, half doubting if it  were, or  could
be the right  house, until she recognised Towlinson,  with a sun-burnt face,
standing at the door to receive her.
     'There is nothing the matter?' inquired Florence.
     'Oh no, Miss.'
     'There are great alterations going on.'
     'Yes, Miss, great alterations,' said Towlinson.
     Florence  passed him as  if she were in a dream, and  hurried upstairs.
The garish light was in the long-darkened drawing-room and  there were steps
and  platforms, and men In paper caps,  in the  high  places.  Her  mother's
picture was gone  with the rest of the moveables,  and on the mark where  it
had been, was scrawled  in chalk, 'this room in panel. Green and  gold.' The
staircase was a labyrinth of posts and planks like the outside of the house,
and  a  whole Olympus  of plumbers  and  glaziers was  reclining in  various
attitudes,  on  the skylight. Her own room was not yet  touched within,  but
there  were  beams  and  boards  raised  against it  without,  baulking  the
daylight. She  went up swiftly to that  other bedroom, where the  little bed
was;  and  a dark giant of a man with a pipe in his mouth, and his head tied
up in a pocket-handkerchief, was staring in at the window.
     It was here that Susan Nipper, who had been in quest of Florence, found
her, and said, would she go  downstairs  to her Papa, who wished to speak to
her.
     'At home! and wishing to speak to me!' cried Florence, trembling.
     Susan,  who  was  infinitely  more  distraught  than Florence  herself,
repeated  her errand; and Florence, pale  and  agitated, hurried down again,
without a moment's hesitation. She thought upon the way down, would she dare
to kiss him? The longing of  her heart resolved  her, and  she  thought  she
would.
     Her father  might  have heard that heart  beat,  when it  came into his
presence. One instant, and it would have beat against his breast.
     But  he  was  not  alone.  There  were two ladies there;  and  Florence
stopped. Striving so hard with her emotion, that if  her brute friend Di had
not burst in and overwhelmed her with  his caresses as  a welcome home  - at
which  one of  the  ladies  gave  a little  scream,  and  that diverted  her
attention from herself - she would have swooned upon the floor.
     'Florence,' said her father, putting  out his hand:  so stiffly that it
held her off: 'how do you do?'
     Florence took the hand between  her own, and putting it timidly  to her
lips, yielded to  its withdrawal.  It touched the  door in shutting it, with
quite as much endearment as it had touched her.
     'What dog is that?' said Mr Dombey, displeased.
     'It is a dog, Papa - from Brighton.'
     'Well!'  said  Mr Dombey; and  a  cloud  passed  over his  face, for he
understood her.
     'He is  very good-tempered,' said Florence, addressing herself with her
natural grace and sweetness to the two  lady strangers.  'He is only glad to
see me. Pray forgive him.'
     She  saw  in  the glance they  interchanged,  that  the  lady  who  had
screamed, and  who was  seated, was old; and that  the other lady, who stood
near her Papa, was very beautiful, and of an elegant figure.
     'Mrs Skewton,' said her father,  turning  to the first, and holding out
his hand, 'this is my daughter Florence.'
     'Charming, I am  sure,' observed the lady, putting  up her  glass.  'So
natural! My darling Florence, you must kiss me, if you please.'
     Florence having done so,  turned towards  the other lady,  by  whom her
father stood waiting.
     'Edith,' said Mr Dombey,  'this is my daughter Florence. Florence, this
lady will soon be your Mama.'
     Florence started, and looked up at the beautiful  face in a conflict of
emotions, among which  the tears that name awakened, struggled  for a moment
with surprise, interest, admiration, and an  indefinable sort of fear.  Then
she  cried out, 'Oh, Papa, may you be happy! may you be very, very happy all
your life!' and then fell weeping on the lady's bosom.
     There was a  short silence. The beautiful lady, who at first had seemed
to hesitate whether or no she should  advance  to Florence, held  her to her
breast,  and pressed  the hand with which she clasped her, close  about  her
waist, as if to reassure her and comfort her. Not one word passed the lady's
lips. She bent her head down over Florence, and she kissed her on the cheek,
but she said no word.
     'Shall we go on through  the rooms,'  said Mr  Dombey, 'and see how our
workmen are doing? Pray allow me, my dear madam.'
     He said  this in offering his arm to  Mrs Skewton, who had been looking
at Florence through her glass, as though picturing to herself what she might
be made, by the infusion - from her own  copious storehouse, no doubt - of a
little more  Heart  and  Nature. Florence  was still sobbing  on  the lady's
breast, and  holding  to her,  when  Mr  Dombey was  heard  to say from  the
Conservatory:
     'Let us ask Edith. Dear me, where is she?'
     'Edith,  my  dear!' cried Mrs Skewton,  'where are you?  Looking for Mr
Dombey somewhere, I know. We are here, my love.'
     The beautiful lady released her hold of Florence, and pressing her lips
once  more  upon  her  face, withdrew hurriedly, and  joined them.  Florence
remained standing In the same place: happy, sorry, joyful, and in tears, she
knew not how, or how long, but all at once: when her new Mama came back, and
took her in her arms again.
     'Florence,' said  the lady, hurriedly, and looking into  her face  with
great earnestness. 'You will not begin by hating me?'
     'By  hating you, Mama?' cried Florence, winding her arm round her neck,
and returning the look.
     'Hush! Begin by thinking well  of me,' said the  beautiful lady. 'Begin
by believing that I will try to make you happy,  and that  I am  prepared to
love you, Florence. Good-bye. We shall meet again soon. Good-bye! Don't stay
here, now.'
     Again she pressed her to her breast she  had spoken in a  rapid manner,
but  firmly - and Florence  saw her rejoin  them in the other room.  And now
Florence began to hope that she would learn from her new and beautiful Mama,
how to gaIn her father's love; and in her sleep that  night, in her lost old
home, her own Mama smiled radiantly upon  the hope, and blessed it. Dreaming
Florence!

        CHAPTER 29.
     The Opening of the Eyes of Mrs Chick

     Miss  Tox, all  unconscious  of  any such rare appearances in connexion
with  Mr  Dombey's house,  as scaffoldings and ladders,  and  men with their
heads tied up in pocket-handkerchiefs, glaring in at the windows like flying
genii  or strange  birds,  -  having breakfasted one  morning at  about this
eventful period of  time, on her customary viands;  to wit, one  French roll
rasped, one egg new laid (or  warranted to be), and one little  pot of  tea,
wherein  was infused  one little silver scoopful of that  herb  on behalf of
Miss Tox, and one little silver  scoopful on behalf of the teapot - a flight
of fancy in which good housekeepers delight; went upstairs to set  forth the
bird waltz on the harpsichord, to water and arrange  the plants, to dust the
nick-nacks,  and,  according  to  her  daily  custom,  to  make  her  little
drawing-room the garland of Princess's Place.
     Miss  Tox  endued  herself with  a pair of  ancient gloves,  like  dead
leaves, in which she  was  accustomed to  perform these avocations -  hidden
from human sight at other times in a table drawer - and went methodically to
work; beginning with the bird  waltz; passing,  by  a natural association of
ideas, to her bird - a  very high-shouldered canary, stricken in years,  and
much  rumpled, but a piercing singer, as Princess's Place well knew; taking,
next in order,  the little  china ornaments, paper fly-cages, and so  forth;
and coming round, in good time,  to the  plants, which generally required to
be snipped here and there with a pair of scissors, for some botanical reason
that was  very powerful with  Miss  Tox.  Miss Tox was slow in coming to the
plants, this morning. The weather was warm,  the  wind southerly; and  there
was  a sigh of the summer-time In Princess's Place,  that  turned Miss Tox's
thoughts upon the country. The pot-boy  attached to the Princess's Arms  had
come out  with  a can and trickled  water, in  a flowering pattern, all over
Princess's Place,  and  it  gave the weedy  ground a  fresh scent - quite  a
growing scent, Miss Tox said.  There was a tiny blink of sun peeping in from
the great street round the corner, and the smoky sparrows hopped over it and
back again, brightening  as they passed: or bathed in it, like a stream, and
became glorified sparrows,  unconnected with  chimneys. Legends in praise of
Ginger-Beer,  with pictorial representations of thirsty  customers submerged
in the effervescence,  or stunned by the  flying corks,  were conspicuous in
the window of the Princess's  Arms. They were making late hay, somewhere out
of town; and though the fragrance had a long  way to come,  and many counter
fragrances to  contend with among the dwellings  of the poor (may God reward
the  worthy gentlemen who stickle  for the Plague as part and parcel of  the
wisdom  of  our ancestors, and  who  do  their  little best  to  keep  those
dwellings  miserable!),  yet  it  was  wafted faintly into Princess's Place,
whispering of Nature and her  wholesome  air, as such things will, even unto
prisoners and captives, and those who  are desolate and  oppressed,  in very
spite of aldermen and knights to boot: at whose sage nod - and how they nod!
- the rolling world stands still!
     Miss Tox sat  down upon  the  window-seat, and thought of her good Papa
deceased -  Mr Tox,  of the Customs Department of the public service; and of
her childhood, passed at a seaport, among  a  considerable  quantity of cold
tar, and some rusticity. She fell into a softened remembrance of meadows, in
old time, gleaming  with buttercups,  like so many  inverted  firmaments  of
golden stars; and how  she had made chains  of dandelion-stalks for youthful
vowers of eternal constancy, dressed  chiefly in nankeen; and how soon those
fetters had withered and broken.
     Sitting on  the window-seat, and looking out upon  the sparrows and the
blink  of sun, Miss Tox thought likewise of her good Mama deceased  - sister
to  the owner  of the powdered  head and pigtail  - of her  virtues  and her
rheumatism.  And when a man with bulgy legs, and a rough  voice, and a heavy
basket on his  head that crushed  his  hat into  a  mere black muffin,  came
crying flowers  down  Princess's  Place,  making his timid little  roots  of
daisies  shudder in  the  vibration of every yell  he gave, as though he had
been an ogre, hawking little children,  summer recollections were so  strong
upon  Miss Tox,  that  she  shook  her  head,  and  murmured  she  would  be
comparatively old before she knew it - which seemed likely.
     In her pensive  mood, Miss Tox's thoughts went wandering on Mr Dombey's
track;  probably  because  the  Major  had  returned  home to  his  lodgings
opposite, and had just bowed to her from his window. What other reason could
Miss  Tox have for  connecting Mr Dombey with her summer  days and dandelion
fetters?  Was he  more cheerful? thought Miss Tox. Was he reconciled to  the
decrees of fate? Would he ever marry  again? and if yes, whom? What  sort of
person now!
     A flush - it  was warm weather - overspread Miss Tox's face, as,  while
entertaining these meditations, she turned her head,  and  was surprised  by
the  reflection of her thoughtful image In the  chimney-glass. Another flush
succeeded when  she saw a little carriage drive  into Princess's  Place, and
make  straight  for her  own door.  Miss Tox arose,  took  up  her  scissors
hastily, and so coming, at last, to the plants, was very busy with them when
Mrs Chick entered the room.
     'How is my sweetest friend!' exclaimed Miss Tox, with open arms.
     A  little stateliness  was mingled  with  Miss  Tox's sweetest friend's
demeanour, but she  kissed Miss  Tox, and  said, 'Lucretia, thank you, I  am
pretty well. I hope you are the same. Hem!'
     Mrs Chick  was labouring under a peculiar  little monosyllabic cough; a
sort of primer, or easy introduction to the art of coughing.
     'You call very early, and how kind that is, my dear!' pursued Miss Tox.
'Now, have you breakfasted?'
     'Thank  you,  Lucretia,' said  Mrs Chick, 'I  have.  I  took  an  early
breakfast' -  the  good lady  seemed  curious on the subject  of  Princess's
Place, and looked all round it as she spoke - 'with my brother, who has come
home.'
     'He is better, I trust, my love,' faltered Miss Tox.
     'He is greatly better, thank you. Hem!'
     'My dear Louisa must be careful of that cough' remarked Miss Tox.
     'It's nothing,' returned Mrs Chic 'It's  merely  change of weather.  We
must expect change.'
     'Of weather?' asked Miss Tox, in her simplicity.
     'Of everything'  returned Mrs Chick 'Of course we must. It's a world of
change. Anyone would surprise me  very  much,  Lucretia,  and would  greatly
alter my  opinion of their understanding, if they attempted to contradict or
evade  what is  so perfectly  evident.  Change!' exclaimed  Mrs  Chick, with
severe philosophy. 'Why, my gracious me, what is there that does not change!
even the  silkworm, who I  am  sure might be  supposed not to trouble itself
about  such   subjects,   changes   into  all  sorts  of  unexpected  things
continually.'
     'My   Louisa,'   said  the  mild  Miss  Tox,  'is  ever  happy  in  her
illustrations.'
     'You are so kind, Lucretia,' returned Mrs Chick, a little softened, 'as
to say so,  and to think so, I  believe. I hope neither of us  may ever have
any cause to lessen our opinion of the other, Lucretia.'
     'I am sure of it,' returned Miss Tox.
     Mrs  Chick  coughed as  before, and drew  lines on the  carpet with the
ivory end of her  parasol. Miss  Tox, who had experience of her fair friend,
and  knew  that under the pressure of any slight fatigue or vexation she was
prone to a discursive kind of irritability, availed herself of the pause, to
change the subject.
     'Pardon me, my dear Louisa,' said Miss Tox, 'but have I caught sight of
the manly form of Mr Chick in the carriage?'
     'He is there,'  said Mrs  Chick, 'but  pray leave him there. He has his
newspaper,  and would be quite contented for  the next two hours. Go on with
your flowers, Lucretia, and allow me to sit here and rest.'
     'My  Louisa  knows,'  observed  Miss Tox, 'that  between  friends  like
ourselves, any approach to ceremony would  be out of the question. Therefore
- ' Therefore Miss  Tox finished  the sentence, not in words but action; and
putting on her  gloves again, which she had taken  off,  and  arming herself
once more with her scissors, began  to  snip and  clip among the leaves with
microscopic industry.
     'Florence has returned home also,' said Mrs Chick, after sitting silent
for some time, with her  head on one side, and her parasol  sketching on the
floor; 'and really Florence is a great deal too old now, to continue to lead
that solitary life to which she has been accustomed. Of course she is. There
can be no doubt about it.  I  should  have very little respect, indeed,  for
anybody who could advocate a different opinion. Whatever my wishes might be,
I could not  respect them. We cannot command our  feelings to such an extent
as that.'
     Miss Tox  assented,  without being particular as to the intelligibility
of the proposition.
     'If she's  a strange girl,'  said Mrs  Chick,  'and if  my brother Paul
cannot feel perfectly  comfortable in her society,  after all the sad things
that  have happened,  and  all the terrible disappointments  that have  been
undergone, then, what is the reply? That he must make  an effort. That he is
bound to make an effort. We have always been a family remarkable for effort.
Paul is at the head of the family; almost the only representative of it left
- for what am I - I am of no consequence - '
     'My dearest love,' remonstrated Miss Tox.
     Mrs Chick dried her eyes, which  were, for the moment, overflowing; and
proceeded:
     'And  consequently he is more than  ever bound to make an  effort.  And
though his having done  so, comes upon me with a sort of shock - for mine is
a very weak and foolish nature; which is anything but a blessing  I am sure;
I often wish my heart was a marble slab, or a paving-stone -
     'My sweet Louisa,' remonstrated Miss Tox again.
     'Still, it is a triumph to me to  know that  he is so true  to himself,
and to his name of Dombey; although, of course, I always knew he would be. I
only hope,' said Mrs Chick,  after  a  pause, 'that she may be worthy of the
name too.
     Miss Tox filled a little  green watering-pot from  a jug, and happening
to  look  up  when she  had done  so,  was so  surprised  by the  amount  of
expression Mrs Chick had conveyed into her face, and was bestowing upon her,
that she  put the little watering-pot  on the table for the present, and sat
down near it.
     'My dear Louisa,' said Miss Tox, 'will it be  the least satisfaction to
you,  if I venture to  observe  in reference  to that remark,  that I, as  a
humble  individual, think your sweet  niece  in  every way most  promising?~
'What do you mean, Lucretia?' returned Mrs Chick, with increased stateliness
of manner. 'To what remark of mine, my dear, do you refer?'
     'Her being worthy of her name, my love,' replied Miss Tox.
     'If,'  said Mrs  Chick,  with solemn patience,  'I  have  not expressed
myself with  clearness, Lucretia,  the  fault of course is  mine.  There is,
perhaps, no reason why I should express myself at  all,  except the intimacy
that  has  subsisted  between  us, and  which I very much hope,  Lucretia  -
confidently hope - nothing will occur to disturb.  Because, why should  I do
anything else? There is no reason; it would be absurd. But I wish to express
myself clearly,  Lucretia; and therefore to  go  back to that remark, I must
beg to say that it was not intended to relate to Florence, in any way.'
     'Indeed!' returned Miss Tox.
     'No,' said Mrs Chick shortly and decisively.
     'Pardon  me, my  dear,'  rejoined  her  meek friend; 'but I cannot have
understood it. I fear I am dull.'
     Mrs Chick looked round the room and over the way; at the plants, at the
bird, at  the  watering-pot, at almost everything within  view,  except Miss
Tox; and finally dropping her glance upon Miss Tox, for a moment, on its way
to the ground, said, looking meanwhile with elevated eyebrows at the carpet:
     'When I speak, Lucretia, of her being worthy of the name, I speak of my
brother Paul's second wife. I believe I have already said, in effect, if not
in  the very words I  now  use,  that it is his intention to marry a  second
wife.'
     Miss Tox left her seat in a hurry, and returned to her plants; clipping
among the stems and leaves, with as little favour as a  barber working at so
many pauper heads of hair.
     'Whether she  will be fully sensible of the distinction conferred  upon
her,' said  Mrs Chick, in a  lofty tone, 'is quite another question. I  hope
she may be. We are bound to think well of one another  in this world, and  I
hope she may  be. I have not been advised with  myself If I had been advised
with,  I  have no doubt  my  advice would have been cavalierly received, and
therefore it is infinitely better as it is. I much prefer it as it is.'
     Miss  Tox,  with head bent down,  still clipped among  the  plants. Mrs
Chick,  with energetic shakings of her own head from time to time, continued
to  hold  forth,  as if  in defiance  of  somebody. 'If my brother  Paul had
consulted with me, which  he sometimes  does -  or rather, sometimes used to
do; for he will naturally  do that no  more  now, and this is a circumstance
which  I  regard  as  a   relief  from  responsibility,'  said  Mrs   Chick,
hysterically,  'for I thank Heaven I am not jealous - ' here Mrs Chick again
shed tears: 'if my brother  Paul had come to me, and had said, "Louisa, what
kind of qualities would you advise me to look out for,  in a wife?" I should
certainly have answered, "Paul, you must have family, you must  have beauty,
you must  have dignity, you  must have connexion."  Those  are  the  words I
should  have   used.  You  might  have  led  me  to  the  block  immediately
afterwards,' said Mrs  Chick, as if that consequence were  highly  probable,
'but I  should have used them.  I  should  have said, "Paul! You  to marry a
second time  without  family! You to  marry  without  beauty!  You to  marry
without dignity!  You to  marry without connexion! There is  nobody  in  the
world, not mad,  who could dream of daring to entertain such a  preposterous
idea!"'
     Miss Tox stopped clipping; and with her head among the plants, listened
attentively. Perhaps Miss  Tox thought there was  hope in this exordium, and
the warmth of Mrs Chick.
     I should have adopted this  course of  argument,' pursued the  discreet
lady, 'because I trust  I am not a  fool. I make no claim to be considered a
person of  superior  intellect  -  though I believe  some  people have  been
extraordinary enough  to consider me  so;  one so little humoured  as  I am,
would very soon  be disabused  of  any such notion;  but I  trust I am not a
downright fool.  And to tell ME,' said  Mrs Chick  with  ineffable  disdain,
'that  my brother  Paul  Dombey  could  ever contemplate the possibility  of
uniting  himself to  anybody  -  I  don't care who' - she was more sharp and
emphatic in that short clause than in any other part of her discourse - 'not
possessing these requisites,  would be  to insult what understanding I  have
got,  as much as if I was to be told  that I was  born and bred an elephant,
which  I may be told next,'  said Mrs Chick,  with resignation. 'It wouldn't
surprise me at all. I expect it.'
     In the moment's silence that ensued, Miss Tox's scissors gave a  feeble
clip or two; but Miss Tox's face was still invisible, and Miss Tox's morning
gown was agitated. Mrs Chick looked sideways at her, through the intervening
plants,  and went  on to say,  in a  tone of bland  conviction,  and  as one
dwelling on a point of fact that hardly required to be stated:
     'Therefore, of course  my brother Paul has done what was to be expected
of him, and  what anybody might have foreseen he would do, if he entered the
marriage state  again. I  confess it takes me  rather  by  surprise, however
gratifying; because when Paul went out of town  I had no idea at all that he
would form any attachment  out  of town, and he certainly had no  attachment
when  he  left  here. However, it seems  to  be extremely desirable in every
point of view. I have  no  doubt the mother  is a  most  genteel and elegant
creature, and I have no right whatever to dispute  the policy of  her living
with them: which is Paul's affair,  not  mine  -  and  as  to Paul's choice,
herself, I have only seen her picture yet, but that is beautiful indeed. Her
name  is beautiful too,'  said  Mrs Chick, shaking her head with energy, and
arranging herself in her chair;  'Edith  is at  once uncommon, as it strikes
me, and distinguished. Consequently, Lucretia, I have  no doubt you  will be
happy to hear that the  marriage  is to take place immediately -  of course,
you  will:' great  emphasis again:  'and that  you are delighted  with  this
change in the  condition  of my brother, who has shown you a  great  deal of
pleasant attention at various times.'
     Miss  Tox made no verbal answer, but took  up the  little  watering-pot
with a trembling  hand, and  looked vacantly  round  as  if considering what
article of  furniture  would  be improved by  the contents.  The  room  door
opening at this crisis of Miss Tox's feelings, she  started,  laughed aloud,
and fell into  the arms  of the person entering; happily insensible alike of
Mrs Chick's indignant countenance and  of the  Major at his window over  the
way,  who had his double-barrelled eye-glass in full action,  and whose face
and figure were dilated with Mephistophelean joy.
     Not so the expatriated Native, amazed supporter of Miss  Tox's swooning
form, who, coming straight upstairs,  with a polite  inquiry  touching  Miss
Tox's health (in exact pursuance of the Major's malicious instructions), had
accidentally arrived  in the very nick of time  to catch the delicate burden
in his arms, and  to receive the content'  of the little watering-pot in his
shoe; both of which circumstances,  coupled with his consciousness of  being
closely watched by the wrathful Major, who had threatened the usual  penalty
in regard of every bone  in his  skin  in  case of  any failure, combined to
render him a moving spectacle of mental and bodily distress.
     For some moments, this afflicted  foreigner  remained clasping Miss Tox
to  his  heart, with an energy of  action  in remarkable opposition  to  his
disconcerted face, while that  poor lady trickled slowly  down upon  him the
very last sprinklings of  the  little watering-pot, as if he were a delicate
exotic (which indeed he was), and might be almost expected to blow while the
gentle  rain descended.  Mrs Chick, at length recovering sufficient presence
of mind to  interpose, commanded  him  to drop Miss  Tox upon  the sofa  and
withdraw;  and  the exile  promptly obeying, she  applied herself to promote
Miss Tox's recovery.
     But  none  of  that  gentle  concern which  usually  characterises  the
daughters of Eve in their tending of each other; none of that freemasonry in
fainting, by which they are generally bound together In a mysterious bond of
sisterhood;  was  visible  in  Mrs  Chick's  demeanour.   Rather  like   the
executioner who restores the victim to sensation previous to proceeding with
the torture (or was wont  to do so, in the good old times for which all true
men  wear perpetual mourning), did Mrs Chick administer the smelling-bottle,
the slapping  on the hands, the dashing of cold  water on the face, and  the
other proved remedies. And when, at length, Miss Tox opened  her  eyes,  and
gradually became restored to animation and consciousness, Mrs Chick drew off
as from a criminal,  and reversing  the precedent  of  the murdered  king of
Denmark, regarded her more in anger than In sorrow.'
     'Lucretia!' said Mrs Chick 'I will not attempt to disguise what I feel.
My eyes are  opened, all at once. I wouldn't have believed this, if  a Saint
had told it to me.
     'I am foolish to give way to faintness,' Miss Tox faltered. 'I shall be
better presently.'
     'You will be  better presently,  Lucretia!'  repeated  Mrs Chick,  with
exceeding  scorn.  'Do  you suppose  I am  blind?  Do you imagine I am in my
second childhood? No, Lucretia! I am obliged to you!'
     Miss  Tox  directed  an imploring, helpless  kind of  look  towards her
friend, and put her handkerchief before her face.
     'If anyone had told me this yesterday,' said Mrs  Chick,  with majesty,
'or  even half-an-hour ago, I should have been tempted, I almost believe, to
strike  them to the earth.  Lucretia Tox, my eyes are opened to  you all  at
once.  The scales:' here Mrs Chick cast down  an imaginary pair, such as are
commonly used in  grocers' shops: 'have fallen from my sight.  The blindness
of my confidence is past, Lucretia. It has been abused and played, upon, and
evasion is quite out of the question now, I assure you.
     'Oh! to what  do  you  allude  so  cruelly, my  love?'  asked Miss Tox,
through her tears.
     'Lucretia,' said Mrs Chick, 'ask your own heart. I must entreat you not
to  address  me by any  such  familiar term  as you  have just used, if  you
please. I have some self-respect left, though you may think otherwise.'
     'Oh, Louisa!' cried Miss Tox. 'How can you speak to me like that?'
     'How can I speak to you like that?' retorted Mrs Chick, who, in default
of  having  any  particular  argument  to   sustain  herself   upon,  relied
principally on such repetitions for  her most withering effects. 'Like that!
You may well say like that, indeed!'
     Miss Tox sobbed pitifully.
     'The  idea!' said  Mrs Chick, 'of  your having  basked  at my brother's
fireside, like  a serpent,  and wound  yourself, through me, almost into his
confidence, Lucretia, that you might, in secret, entertain designs upon him,
and dare to aspire to  contemplate the possibility of his uniting himself to
you! Why,  it  is  an idea,'  said  Mrs Chick, with sarcastic  dignity, 'the
absurdity of which almost relieves its treachery.'
     'Pray, Louisa,' urged Miss Tox, 'do not say such dreadful things.'
     'Dreadful  things!' repeated  Mrs Chick. 'Dreadful things! Is  it not a
fact, Lucretia, that you have  just now been unable to command your feelings
even before me, whose eyes you had so completely closed?'
     'I have made no complaint,' sobbed Miss Tox. 'I have said nothing. If I
have  been  a little overpowered by your news, Louisa, and have ever had any
lingering thought that  Mr Dombey was inclined to be  particular towards me,
surely you will not condemn me.'
     'She is going to say,' said Mrs Chick,  addressing herself to the whole
of the furniture, in a comprehensive glance of resignation and  appeal, 'She
is going to say - I know it - that I have encouraged her!'
     'I don't  wish  to exchange reproaches,  dear  Louisa,' sobbed Miss Tox
'Nor do I wish to complain. But, in my own defence - '
     'Yes,' cried Mrs Chick,  looking round the room with a prophetic smile,
'that's what she's going to say. I  knew it.  You had better  say it. Say it
openly! Be  open, Lucretia Tox,' said  Mrs Chick, with  desperate sternness,
'whatever you are.'
     'In my own defence,' faltered  Miss Tox, 'and  only  In  my own defence
against your unkind words, my  dear Louisa, I would  merely ask you  if  you
haven't often  favoured such a  fancy, and even  said  it might  happen, for
anything we could tell?'
     'There is a point,' said Mrs Chick, rising, not as if she were going to
stop  at the  floor, but as if she were  about to soar  up,  high,  into her
native skies, 'beyond which endurance becomes ridiculous, if not culpable. I
can bear  much; but not too much. What spell was on me when I came into this
house  this  day,  I  don't  know;  but  I  had  a  presentiment  -  a  dark
presentiment,' said Mrs  Chick, with a shiver, 'that something was  going to
happen. Well may I have had that foreboding, Lucretia, when my confidence of
many years is destroyed in an  instant, when my eyes are opened all at once,
and  when I find you  revealed in your true  colours.  Lucretia, I have been
mistaken in you. It is better for us both that this subject should end here.
I wish you  well, and I  shall ever wish you well. But, as an individual who
desires  to be  true  to herself  in her  own  poor  position, whatever that
position  may be, or may not be - and  as the sister of my  brother - and as
the sister-in-law of my brother's wife - and  as a connexion by  marriage of
my brother's wife's mother - may I be permitted to add, as a Dombey? - I can
wish you nothing else but good morning.'
     These words, delivered with cutting suavity, tempered and chastened  by
a  lofty air of moral rectitude,  carried the speaker to the door. There she
inclined her head in a  ghostly  and statue-like manner, and so withdrew  to
her carriage, to  seek comfort and consolation  in the arms of Mr Chick, her
lord.
     Figuratively speaking,  that is to say; for the arms of  Mr  Chick were
full of his newspaper. Neither  did that gentleman address  his eyes towards
his  wife otherwise than  by stealth. Neither  did he offer any  consolation
whatever.  In  short,  he sat reading, and humming fag  ends  of  tunes, and
sometimes  glancing furtively at her without  delivering himself  of a word,
good, bad, or indifferent.
     In  the meantime Mrs Chick sat swelling and bridling,  and  tossing her
head,  as if she were still repeating  that solemn  formula  of  farewell to
Lucretia Tox.  At length, she said aloud,  'Oh the extent to  which her eyes
had been opened that day!'
     'To which your eyes have been opened, my dear!' repeated Mr Chick.
     'Oh,  don't talk to me!' said  Mrs  Chic 'if you can bear to see  me in
this state,  and  not ask me what the  matter is, you  had  better hold your
tongue for ever.'
     'What is the matter, my dear?' asked Mr Chick
     'To think,' said Mrs  Chick, in a  state of soliloquy, 'that she should
ever have conceived the base idea of connecting herself with our family by a
marriage  with Paul!  To think that when she was playing at horses with that
dear child  who is  now in his grave - I  never liked  it  at the time - she
should  have been hiding  such a double-faced design! I wonder she was never
afraid  that  something  would happen to  her. She  is fortunate  if nothing
does.'
     'I  really thought, my dear,' said Mr  Chick  slowly, after rubbing the
bridge of  his nose for some time with his newspaper, 'that you had  gone on
the  sa