Captain Cuttle, though no sluggard, did not turn out so early on the
morning after he had seen Sol Gills, through the shop-window, writing in
the parlour, with the Midshipman upon the counter, and Rob the Grinder
making up his bed below it, but that the clocks struck six as he raised
himself on his elbow, and took a survey of his little chamber. The
Captain's eyes must have done severe duty, if he usually opened them as
wide on awaking as he did that morning; and were but roughly rewarded
for their vigilance, if he generally rubbed them half as hard. But the
occasion was no common one, for Rob the Grinder had certainly never
stood in the doorway of Captain Cuttle's room before, and in it he stood
then, panting at the Captain, with a flushed and touzled air of Bed
about him, that greatly heightened both his colour and expression.

'Holloa!' roared the Captain. 'What's the matter?'

Before Rob could stammer a word in answer, Captain Cuttle turned out,
all in a heap, and covered the boy's mouth with his hand.

'Steady, my lad,' said the Captain, 'don't ye speak a word to me as
yet!'

The Captain, looking at his visitor in great consternation, gently
shouldered him into the next room, after laying this injunction upon
him; and disappearing for a few moments, forthwith returned in the blue
suit. Holding up his hand in token of the injunction not yet being taken
off, Captain Cuttle walked up to the cupboard, and poured himself out
a dram; a counterpart of which he handed to the messenger. The Captain
then stood himself up in a corner, against the wall, as if to forestall
the possibility of being knocked backwards by the communication that was
to be made to him; and having swallowed his liquor, with his eyes fixed
on the messenger, and his face as pale as his face could be, requested
him to 'heave ahead.'

'Do you mean, tell you, Captain?' asked Rob, who had been greatly
impressed by these precautions.

'Ay!' said the Captain.

'Well, Sir,' said Rob, 'I ain't got much to tell. But look here!'

Rob produced a bundle of keys. The Captain surveyed them, remained in
his corner, and surveyed the messenger.

'And look here!' pursued Rob.

The boy produced a sealed packet, which Captain Cuttle stared at as he
had stared at the keys.

'When I woke this morning, Captain,' said Rob, 'which was about a
quarter after five, I found these on my pillow. The shop-door was
unbolted and unlocked, and Mr Gills gone.'

'Gone!' roared the Captain.

'Flowed, Sir,' returned Rob.

The Captain's voice was so tremendous, and he came out of his corner
with such way on him, that Rob retreated before him into another corner:
holding out the keys and packet, to prevent himself from being run down.

'"For Captain Cuttle," Sir,' cried Rob, 'is on the keys, and on the
packet too. Upon my word and honour, Captain Cuttle, I don't know
anything more about it. I wish I may die if I do! Here's a sitiwation
for a lad that's just got a sitiwation,' cried the unfortunate Grinder,
screwing his cuff into his face: 'his master bolted with his place, and
him blamed for it!'

These lamentations had reference to Captain Cuttle's gaze, or
rather glare, which was full of vague suspicions, threatenings, and
denunciations. Taking the proffered packet from his hand, the Captain
opened it and read as follows:--

'"My dear Ned Cuttle. Enclosed is my will!"' The Captain turned it over,
with a doubtful look--'"and Testament"--Where's the Testament?' said the
Captain, instantly impeaching the ill-fated Grinder. 'What have you done
with that, my lad?'

'I never see it,' whimpered Rob. 'Don't keep on suspecting an innocent
lad, Captain. I never touched the Testament.'

Captain Cuttle shook his head, implying that somebody must be made
answerable for it; and gravely proceeded:

'"Which don't break open for a year, or until you have decisive
intelligence of my dear Walter, who is dear to you, Ned, too, I am
sure."' The Captain paused and shook his head in some emotion; then, as
a re-establishment of his dignity in this trying position, looked with
exceeding sternness at the Grinder. '"If you should never hear of me, or
see me more, Ned, remember an old friend as he will remember you to
the last--kindly; and at least until the period I have mentioned has
expired, keep a home in the old place for Walter. There are no debts,
the loan from Dombey's House is paid off and all my keys I send with
this. Keep this quiet, and make no inquiry for me; it is useless. So no
more, dear Ned, from your true friend, Solomon Gills."' The Captain took
a long breath, and then read these words written below: '"The boy Rob,
well recommended, as I told you, from Dombey's House. If all else should
come to the hammer, take care, Ned, of the little Midshipman."'

To convey to posterity any idea of the manner in which the Captain,
after turning this letter over and over, and reading it a score of
times, sat down in his chair, and held a court-martial on the subject in
his own mind, would require the united genius of all the great men,
who, discarding their own untoward days, have determined to go down to
posterity, and have never got there. At first the Captain was too much
confounded and distressed to think of anything but the letter itself;
and even when his thoughts began to glance upon the various attendant
facts, they might, perhaps, as well have occupied themselves with their
former theme, for any light they reflected on them. In this state of
mind, Captain Cuttle having the Grinder before the court, and no one
else, found it a great relief to decide, generally, that he was an
object of suspicion: which the Captain so clearly expressed in his
visage, that Rob remonstrated.

'Oh, don't, Captain!' cried the Grinder. 'I wonder how you can! what
have I done to be looked at, like that?'

'My lad,' said Captain Cuttle, 'don't you sing out afore you're hurt.
And don't you commit yourself, whatever you do.'

'I haven't been and committed nothing, Captain!' answered Rob.

'Keep her free, then,' said the Captain, impressively, 'and ride easy.'

With a deep sense of the responsibility imposed upon him, and the
necessity of thoroughly fathoming this mysterious affair as became a man
in his relations with the parties, Captain Cuttle resolved to go down
and examine the premises, and to keep the Grinder with him. Considering
that youth as under arrest at present, the Captain was in some doubt
whether it might not be expedient to handcuff him, or tie his ankles
together, or attach a weight to his legs; but not being clear as to the
legality of such formalities, the Captain decided merely to hold him by
the shoulder all the way, and knock him down if he made any objection.

However, he made none, and consequently got to the Instrument-maker's
house without being placed under any more stringent restraint. As the
shutters were not yet taken down, the Captain's first care was to
have the shop opened; and when the daylight was freely admitted, he
proceeded, with its aid, to further investigation.

The Captain's first care was to establish himself in a chair in the
shop, as President of the solemn tribunal that was sitting within
him; and to require Rob to lie down in his bed under the counter, show
exactly where he discovered the keys and packet when he awoke, how
he found the door when he went to try it, how he started off to Brig
Place--cautiously preventing the latter imitation from being carried
farther than the threshold--and so on to the end of the chapter. When
all this had been done several times, the Captain shook his head and
seemed to think the matter had a bad look.

Next, the Captain, with some indistinct idea of finding a body,
instituted a strict search over the whole house; groping in the cellars
with a lighted candle, thrusting his hook behind doors, bringing his
head into violent contact with beams, and covering himself with cobwebs.
Mounting up to the old man's bed-room, they found that he had not been
in bed on the previous night, but had merely lain down on the coverlet,
as was evident from the impression yet remaining there.

'And I think, Captain,' said Rob, looking round the room, 'that when Mr
Gills was going in and out so often, these last few days, he was taking
little things away, piecemeal, not to attract attention.'

'Ay!' said the Captain, mysteriously. 'Why so, my lad?'

'Why,' returned Rob, looking about, 'I don't see his shaving tackle. Nor
his brushes, Captain. Nor no shirts. Nor yet his shoes.'

As each of these articles was mentioned, Captain Cuttle took particular
notice of the corresponding department of the Grinder, lest he should
appear to have been in recent use, or should prove to be in present
possession thereof. But Rob had no occasion to shave, was not brushed,
and wore the clothes he had on for a long time past, beyond all
possibility of a mistake.

'And what should you say,' said the Captain--'not committing
yourself--about his time of sheering off? Hey?'

'Why, I think, Captain,' returned Rob, 'that he must have gone pretty
soon after I began to snore.'

'What o'clock was that?' said the Captain, prepared to be very
particular about the exact time.

'How can I tell, Captain!' answered Rob. 'I only know that I'm a heavy
sleeper at first, and a light one towards morning; and if Mr Gills had
come through the shop near daybreak, though ever so much on tiptoe, I'm
pretty sure I should have heard him shut the door at all events.'

On mature consideration of this evidence, Captain Cuttle began to think
that the Instrument-maker must have vanished of his own accord; to which
logical conclusion he was assisted by the letter addressed to himself,
which, as being undeniably in the old man's handwriting, would seem,
with no great forcing, to bear the construction, that he arranged of his
own will to go, and so went. The Captain had next to consider where and
why? and as there was no way whatsoever that he saw to the solution of
the first difficulty, he confined his meditations to the second.

Remembering the old man's curious manner, and the farewell he had taken
of him; unaccountably fervent at the time, but quite intelligible now: a
terrible apprehension strengthened on the Captain, that, overpowered
by his anxieties and regrets for Walter, he had been driven to commit
suicide. Unequal to the wear and tear of daily life, as he had
often professed himself to be, and shaken as he no doubt was by the
uncertainty and deferred hope he had undergone, it seemed no violently
strained misgiving, but only too probable.

Free from debt, and with no fear for his personal liberty, or the seizure
of his goods, what else but such a state of madness could have hurried
him away alone and secretly? As to his carrying some apparel with him, if
he had really done so--and they were not even sure of that--he might have
done so, the Captain argued, to prevent inquiry, to distract attention
from his probable fate, or to ease the very mind that was now revolving
all these possibilities. Such, reduced into plain language, and condensed
within a small compass, was the final result and substance of Captain
Cuttle's deliberations: which took a long time to arrive at this pass,
and were, like some more public deliberations, very discursive and
disorderly.

Dejected and despondent in the extreme, Captain Cuttle felt it just to
release Rob from the arrest in which he had placed him, and to enlarge
him, subject to a kind of honourable inspection which he still resolved
to exercise; and having hired a man, from Brogley the Broker, to sit in
the shop during their absence, the Captain, taking Rob with him, issued
forth upon a dismal quest after the mortal remains of Solomon Gills.

Not a station-house, or bone-house, or work-house in the metropolis
escaped a visitation from the hard glazed hat. Along the wharves, among
the shipping on the bank-side, up the river, down the river, here,
there, everywhere, it went gleaming where men were thickest, like the
hero's helmet in an epic battle. For a whole week the Captain read of
all the found and missing people in all the newspapers and handbills,
and went forth on expeditions at all hours of the day to identify
Solomon Gills, in poor little ship-boys who had fallen overboard, and in
tall foreigners with dark beards who had taken poison--'to make sure,'
Captain Cuttle said, 'that it wam't him.' It is a sure thing that it
never was, and that the good Captain had no other satisfaction.

Captain Cuttle at last abandoned these attempts as hopeless, and set
himself to consider what was to be done next. After several new perusals
of his poor friend's letter, he considered that the maintenance of 'a
home in the old place for Walter' was the primary duty imposed upon him.
Therefore, the Captain's decision was, that he would keep house on
the premises of Solomon Gills himself, and would go into the
instrument-business, and see what came of it.

But as this step involved the relinquishment of his apartments at Mrs
MacStinger's, and he knew that resolute woman would never hear of his
deserting them, the Captain took the desperate determination of running
away.

'Now, look ye here, my lad,' said the Captain to Rob, when he had
matured this notable scheme, 'to-morrow, I shan't be found in this here
roadstead till night--not till arter midnight p'rhaps. But you keep
watch till you hear me knock, and the moment you do, turn-to, and open
the door.'

'Very good, Captain,' said Rob.

'You'll continue to be rated on these here books,' pursued the Captain
condescendingly, 'and I don't say but what you may get promotion, if
you and me should pull together with a will. But the moment you hear me
knock to-morrow night, whatever time it is, turn-to and show yourself
smart with the door.'

'I'll be sure to do it, Captain,' replied Rob.

'Because you understand,' resumed the Captain, coming back again to
enforce this charge upon his mind, 'there may be, for anything I can
say, a chase; and I might be took while I was waiting, if you didn't
show yourself smart with the door.'

Rob again assured the Captain that he would be prompt and wakeful;
and the Captain having made this prudent arrangement, went home to Mrs
MacStinger's for the last time.

The sense the Captain had of its being the last time, and of the awful
purpose hidden beneath his blue waistcoat, inspired him with such a
mortal dread of Mrs MacStinger, that the sound of that lady's foot
downstairs at any time of the day, was sufficient to throw him into
a fit of trembling. It fell out, too, that Mrs MacStinger was in a
charming temper--mild and placid as a house--lamb; and Captain Cuttle's
conscience suffered terrible twinges, when she came up to inquire if she
could cook him nothing for his dinner.

'A nice small kidney-pudding now, Cap'en Cuttle,' said his landlady: 'or
a sheep's heart. Don't mind my trouble.'

'No thank'ee, Ma'am,' returned the Captain.

'Have a roast fowl,' said Mrs MacStinger, 'with a bit of weal stuffing
and some egg sauce. Come, Cap'en Cuttle! Give yourself a little treat!'

'No thank'ee, Ma'am,' returned the Captain very humbly.

'I'm sure you're out of sorts, and want to be stimulated,' said Mrs
MacStinger. 'Why not have, for once in a way, a bottle of sherry wine?'

'Well, Ma'am,' rejoined the Captain, 'if you'd be so good as take a
glass or two, I think I would try that. Would you do me the favour,
Ma'am,' said the Captain, torn to pieces by his conscience, 'to accept a
quarter's rent ahead?'

'And why so, Cap'en Cuttle?' retorted Mrs MacStinger--sharply, as the
Captain thought.

The Captain was frightened to dead 'If you would Ma'am,' he said with
submission, 'it would oblige me. I can't keep my money very well. It
pays itself out. I should take it kind if you'd comply.'

'Well, Cap'en Cuttle,' said the unconscious MacStinger, rubbing her
hands, 'you can do as you please. It's not for me, with my family, to
refuse, no more than it is to ask.'

'And would you, Ma'am,' said the Captain, taking down the tin canister
in which he kept his cash, from the top shelf of the cupboard, 'be so
good as offer eighteen-pence a-piece to the little family all round? If
you could make it convenient, Ma'am, to pass the word presently for them
children to come for'ard, in a body, I should be glad to see 'em.'

These innocent MacStingers were so many daggers to the Captain's breast,
when they appeared in a swarm, and tore at him with the confiding
trustfulness he so little deserved. The eye of Alexander MacStinger, who
had been his favourite, was insupportable to the Captain; the voice of
Juliana MacStinger, who was the picture of her mother, made a coward of
him.

Captain Cuttle kept up appearances, nevertheless, tolerably well, and
for an hour or two was very hardly used and roughly handled by the young
MacStingers: who in their childish frolics, did a little damage also
to the glazed hat, by sitting in it, two at a time, as in a nest, and
drumming on the inside of the crown with their shoes. At length the
Captain sorrowfully dismissed them: taking leave of these cherubs with
the poignant remorse and grief of a man who was going to execution.

In the silence of night, the Captain packed up his heavier property in a
chest, which he locked, intending to leave it there, in all probability
for ever, but on the forlorn chance of one day finding a man
sufficiently bold and desperate to come and ask for it. Of his lighter
necessaries, the Captain made a bundle; and disposed his plate about his
person, ready for flight. At the hour of midnight, when Brig Place was
buried in slumber, and Mrs MacStinger was lulled in sweet oblivion, with
her infants around her, the guilty Captain, stealing down on tiptoe, in
the dark, opened the door, closed it softly after him, and took to his
heels.

Pursued by the image of Mrs MacStinger springing out of bed, and,
regardless of costume, following and bringing him back; pursued also by
a consciousness of his enormous crime; Captain Cuttle held on at a great
pace, and allowed no grass to grow under his feet, between Brig Place
and the Instrument-maker's door. It opened when he knocked--for Rob
was on the watch--and when it was bolted and locked behind him, Captain
Cuttle felt comparatively safe.

'Whew!' cried the Captain, looking round him. 'It's a breather!'

'Nothing the matter, is there, Captain?' cried the gaping Rob.

'No, no!' said Captain Cuttle, after changing colour, and listening to
a passing footstep in the street. 'But mind ye, my lad; if any lady,
except either of them two as you see t'other day, ever comes and asks
for Cap'en Cuttle, be sure to report no person of that name known, nor
never heard of here; observe them orders, will you?'

'I'll take care, Captain,' returned Rob.

'You might say--if you liked,' hesitated the Captain, 'that you'd
read in the paper that a Cap'en of that name was gone to Australia,
emigrating, along with a whole ship's complement of people as had all
swore never to come back no more.'

Rob nodded his understanding of these instructions; and Captain Cuttle
promising to make a man of him, if he obeyed orders, dismissed him,
yawning, to his bed under the counter, and went aloft to the chamber of
Solomon Gills.

What the Captain suffered next day, whenever a bonnet passed, or how
often he darted out of the shop to elude imaginary MacStingers, and
sought safety in the attic, cannot be told. But to avoid the fatigues
attendant on this means of self-preservation, the Captain curtained the
glass door of communication between the shop and parlour, on the inside;
fitted a key to it from the bunch that had been sent to him; and cut a
small hole of espial in the wall. The advantage of this fortification is
obvious. On a bonnet appearing, the Captain instantly slipped into his
garrison, locked himself up, and took a secret observation of the enemy.
Finding it a false alarm, the Captain instantly slipped out again. And
the bonnets in the street were so very numerous, and alarms were
so inseparable from their appearance, that the Captain was almost
incessantly slipping in and out all day long.

Captain Cuttle found time, however, in the midst of this fatiguing
service to inspect the stock; in connexion with which he had the
general idea (very laborious to Rob) that too much friction could not
be bestowed upon it, and that it could not be made too bright. He also
ticketed a few attractive-looking articles at a venture, at prices
ranging from ten shillings to fifty pounds, and exposed them in the
window to the great astonishment of the public.

After effecting these improvements, Captain Cuttle, surrounded by the
instruments, began to feel scientific: and looked up at the stars at
night, through the skylight, when he was smoking his pipe in the little
back parlour before going to bed, as if he had established a kind of
property in them. As a tradesman in the City, too, he began to have an
interest in the Lord Mayor, and the Sheriffs, and in Public Companies;
and felt bound to read the quotations of the Funds every day, though he
was unable to make out, on any principle of navigation, what the figures
meant, and could have very well dispensed with the fractions. Florence,
the Captain waited on, with his strange news of Uncle Sol, immediately
after taking possession of the Midshipman; but she was away from home.
So the Captain sat himself down in his altered station of life, with no
company but Rob the Grinder; and losing count of time, as men do when
great changes come upon them, thought musingly of Walter, and of Solomon
Gills, and even of Mrs MacStinger herself, as among the things that had
been.

Captain Cuttle wakes up very early to find Rob in his apartment. Rob has come to tell him that he had woken up that morning to find Sol Gills mysteriously vanished. The packet Sol left behind was addressed to Cuttle, so Rob has brought it to him. Cuttle opens it to find that Sol has enclosed his will, with instructions for it not to be opened for one year, or until Walter's fate has been determined. Sol says he may never be seen or heard from again, but that his debts are paid, and that he hopes Cuttle will look out for Rob. Rob and Cuttle go back to the shop, but Cuttle cannot find any clues of where Sol might have gone. Cuttle believes that Sol's despair about Walter has driven him to commit suicide. Cuttle decides to move into Sol's lodgings and take over the shop, so that if either Sol or Walter ever returns, they will have something to come back to. He keeps Rob at the shop to help him


'Your most obedient, Sir,' said the Major. 'Damme, Sir, a friend of my
friend Dombey's is a friend of mine, and I'm glad to see you!'

'I am infinitely obliged, Carker,' explained Mr Dombey, 'to Major
Bagstock, for his company and conversation. Major Bagstock has rendered
me great service, Carker.'

Mr Carker the Manager, hat in hand, just arrived at Leamington, and
just introduced to the Major, showed the Major his whole double range
of teeth, and trusted he might take the liberty of thanking him with
all his heart for having effected so great an Improvement in Mr Dombey's
looks and spirits.

'By Gad, Sir,' said the Major, in reply, 'there are no thanks due to
me, for it's a give and take affair. A great creature like our friend
Dombey, Sir,' said the Major, lowering his voice, but not lowering it so
much as to render it inaudible to that gentleman, 'cannot help improving
and exalting his friends. He strengthens and invigorates a man, Sir,
does Dombey, in his moral nature.'

Mr Carker snapped at the expression. In his moral nature. Exactly. The
very words he had been on the point of suggesting.

'But when my friend Dombey, Sir,' added the Major, 'talks to you of
Major Bagstock, I must crave leave to set him and you right. He means
plain Joe, Sir--Joey B.--Josh. Bagstock--Joseph--rough and tough Old J.,
Sir. At your service.'

Mr Carker's excessively friendly inclinations towards the Major, and Mr
Carker's admiration of his roughness, toughness, and plainness, gleamed
out of every tooth in Mr Carker's head.

'And now, Sir,' said the Major, 'you and Dombey have the devil's own
amount of business to talk over.'

'By no means, Major,' observed Mr Dombey.

'Dombey,' said the Major, defiantly, 'I know better; a man of your
mark--the Colossus of commerce--is not to be interrupted. Your moments
are precious. We shall meet at dinner-time. In the interval, old Joseph
will be scarce. The dinner-hour is a sharp seven, Mr Carker.'

With that, the Major, greatly swollen as to his face, withdrew; but
immediately putting in his head at the door again, said:

'I beg your pardon. Dombey, have you any message to 'em?'

Mr Dombey in some embarrassment, and not without a glance at the
courteous keeper of his business confidence, entrusted the Major with
his compliments.

'By the Lord, Sir,' said the Major, 'you must make it something warmer
than that, or old Joe will be far from welcome.'

'Regards then, if you will, Major,' returned Mr Dombey.

'Damme, Sir,' said the Major, shaking his shoulders and his great cheeks
jocularly: 'make it something warmer than that.'

'What you please, then, Major,' observed Mr Dombey.

'Our friend is sly, Sir, sly, Sir, de-vilish sly,' said the Major,
staring round the door at Carker. 'So is Bagstock.' But stopping in the
midst of a chuckle, and drawing himself up to his full height, the Major
solemnly exclaimed, as he struck himself on the chest, 'Dombey! I envy
your feelings. God bless you!' and withdrew.

'You must have found the gentleman a great resource,' said Carker,
following him with his teeth.

'Very great indeed,' said Mr Dombey.

'He has friends here, no doubt,' pursued Carker. 'I perceive, from
what he has said, that you go into society here. Do you know,' smiling
horribly, 'I am so very glad that you go into society!'

Mr Dombey acknowledged this display of interest on the part of his
second in command, by twirling his watch-chain, and slightly moving his
head.

'You were formed for society,' said Carker. 'Of all the men I know, you
are the best adapted, by nature and by position, for society. Do you
know I have been frequently amazed that you should have held it at arm's
length so long!'

'I have had my reasons, Carker. I have been alone, and indifferent to
it. But you have great social qualifications yourself, and are the more
likely to have been surprised.'

'Oh! I!' returned the other, with ready self-disparagement. 'It's
quite another matter in the case of a man like me. I don't come into
comparison with you.'

Mr Dombey put his hand to his neckcloth, settled his chin in it,
coughed, and stood looking at his faithful friend and servant for a few
moments in silence.

'I shall have the pleasure, Carker,' said Mr Dombey at length: making as
if he swallowed something a little too large for his throat: 'to present
you to my--to the Major's friends. Highly agreeable people.'

'Ladies among them, I presume?' insinuated the smooth Manager.

'They are all--that is to say, they are both--ladies,' replied Mr
Dombey.

'Only two?' smiled Carker.

'They are only two. I have confined my visits to their residence, and
have made no other acquaintance here.'

'Sisters, perhaps?' quoth Carker.

'Mother and daughter,' replied Mr Dombey.

As Mr Dombey dropped his eyes, and adjusted his neckcloth again, the
smiling face of Mr Carker the Manager became in a moment, and without
any stage of transition, transformed into a most intent and frowning
face, scanning his closely, and with an ugly sneer. As Mr Dombey raised
his eyes, it changed back, no less quickly, to its old expression, and
showed him every gum of which it stood possessed.

'You are very kind,' said Carker, 'I shall be delighted to know them.
Speaking of daughters, I have seen Miss Dombey.'

There was a sudden rush of blood to Mr Dombey's face.

'I took the liberty of waiting on her,' said Carker, 'to inquire if she
could charge me with any little commission. I am not so fortunate as to
be the bearer of any but her--but her dear love.'

Wolf's face that it was then, with even the hot tongue revealing itself
through the stretched mouth, as the eyes encountered Mr Dombey's!

'What business intelligence is there?' inquired the latter gentleman,
after a silence, during which Mr Carker had produced some memoranda and
other papers.

'There is very little,' returned Carker. 'Upon the whole we have not had
our usual good fortune of late, but that is of little moment to you. At
Lloyd's, they give up the Son and Heir for lost. Well, she was insured,
from her keel to her masthead.'

'Carker,' said Mr Dombey, taking a chair near him, 'I cannot say that
young man, Gay, ever impressed me favourably--'

'Nor me,' interposed the Manager.

'--But I wish,' said Mr Dombey, without heeding the interruption, 'he had
never gone on board that ship. I wish he had never been sent out.

'It is a pity you didn't say so, in good time, is it not?' retorted
Carker, coolly. 'However, I think it's all for the best. I really, think
it's all for the best. Did I mention that there was something like a
little confidence between Miss Dombey and myself?'

'No,' said Mr Dombey, sternly.

'I have no doubt,' returned Mr Carker, after an impressive pause, 'that
wherever Gay is, he is much better where he is, than at home here. If
I were, or could be, in your place, I should be satisfied of that. I
am quite satisfied of it myself. Miss Dombey is confiding and
young--perhaps hardly proud enough, for your daughter--if she have a
fault. Not that that is much though, I am sure. Will you check these
balances with me?'

Mr Dombey leaned back in his chair, instead of bending over the papers
that were laid before him, and looked the Manager steadily in the face.
The Manager, with his eyelids slightly raised, affected to be glancing
at his figures, and to await the leisure of his principal. He showed
that he affected this, as if from great delicacy, and with a design to
spare Mr Dombey's feelings; and the latter, as he looked at him, was
cognizant of his intended consideration, and felt that but for it, this
confidential Carker would have said a great deal more, which he, Mr
Dombey, was too proud to ask for. It was his way in business, often.
Little by little, Mr Dombey's gaze relaxed, and his attention became
diverted to the papers before him; but while busy with the occupation
they afforded him, he frequently stopped, and looked at Mr Carker again.
Whenever he did so, Mr Carker was demonstrative, as before, in his
delicacy, and impressed it on his great chief more and more.

While they were thus engaged; and under the skilful culture of the
Manager, angry thoughts in reference to poor Florence brooded and bred
in Mr Dombey's breast, usurping the place of 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.

Mr. Carker arrives in Leamington, and Mr. Dombey introduces him to Major Bagstock. Carker quickly ascertains that Dombey is interested in Mrs. Skewton's daughter Edith. Carker also reports that he has seen Florence and that the ship Walter was sailing aboard is assumed to be lost. Mr. Dombey expresses regret that Walter was on board the ship, but Carker consoles him, implying that Florence may have been inappropriately attached to Walter and therefore it is better off that he is gone. Meanwhile, Bagstock meets with Mrs. Skewton and they discuss how best to facilitate an engagement between Edith and Mr. Dombey; Mrs. Skewton is concerned because she feels that her daughter does not confide in her. Mr. Dombey has invited the mother and daughter to accompany him on a visit to some local landmarks, and Edith maintains indifference to his overtures. Bagstock and Carker meet up again, and Bagstock excitedly confides how excited he is about the prospective match between Edith and Dombey

This section revolves around Dombey's engagement and marriage and the impact it has on a far-flung cast of characters. The idea of the Dombey household as the nucleus of action that spreads far beyond it is perhaps most evident in the chapter describing the events of the wedding, which reverberates through a number of social rankings. Dombey's actions and choices carry significance for many people around him because of his economic impact and his status as a public figure. This should place him in a position of responsibility, although it rarely seems to impact his choices. At the same time, these scenes make it clear that there is a gossipy, voyeuristic interest in the lives of the Dombey family. They occupy a kind of celebrity position and this exerts a kind of pressure, especially since celebrity does not always ensure popularity. Illustrated most extremely by Carker, but also displayed by other characters like the Dombey servants, there is often a tinge of resentment, and a sense that a downfall would be welcomed by those envious of his power and privilege. The cynicism around what should be a joyous event is developed most strongly by the insight the reader is given into Mrs. Skewton and Edith's feelings about the marriage. Mrs. Skewton acts as a kind of parallel to Dombey in that her parenting is preoccupied with how she can gain from her daughter's beauty and desirability. She believes Edith should welcome the chance to marry Dombey, whether or not she feels affection for him. Edith occupies a much more ambivalent position in that she expresses disgust and self-loathing with the feeling that she is selling herself. However, she also seems resigned to this fate. She does not believe that there is any possibility of happiness left for her, and seems to think that her mother's education has corrupted her perspective so much that she can indeed only aspire to money-driven marriages, even if she resists at the same time. In this way, Edith's perspective shows the damaging effects of bad parenting, perhaps prefiguring what could have become of Paul had he not died with his childhood innocence intact. By having been taught that money is the most important thing, and that her beauty is a tool for achieving it, Edith has been irreparably damaged. At the same time, Florence's innocence, innate goodness, and willingness to love, pierce through even Edith's cynicism. She quickly warms to her stepdaughter and feels ferociously protective of her, especially when it becomes clear that Florence's beauty has caught Mrs. Skewton's attention. Edith knows that her mother will try to warp Florence's perspective, values, and sense of modesty, and is determined to prevent her own unhappy fate from being passed onto the next generation. In this way, Edith does function as a kind of surrogate parent to Florence. At the same time, however, her sense of shame is so deep that Edith fears a kind of moral contamination and tries to draw boundaries between herself and Florence. This reflects the way in which, although she has not yet committed any sexual transgression, Edith thinks of herself already as a kind of fallen woman, and her marriage to Dombey is revealed as a form of legalized and socially sanctioned prostitution. The reaction of characters to Dombey's marriage functions as a kind of test for their true feelings and intentions. Florence is immediately hopeful and optimistic: she is eager to forge a relationship with her stepmother and wonders if this is the occasion that will finally allow her to bond with her father. Miss Tox is deeply hurt by the news-so hurt that her long hidden emotions come to the surface, and Mrs. Chick finally realizes her friend's long-standing affection for her brother. While Mrs. Chick has been unimpressed with the news of the wedding, resenting the idea that anyone would be good enough for her brother, but she is so outraged by what she considers a betrayal from her friend that she ends the relationship. This signals the Dombey family pride, as well as the perception that those outside the family circle are inherently inferior, and should be viewed as threats.