sty smell prevailing as if the ashes of ten
thousand dinners were entombed in the sarcophagus below it. The owner of
the house lived much abroad; the air of England seldom agreed long with
a member of the Feenix family; and the room had gradually put itself
into deeper and still deeper mourning for him, until it was become so
funereal as to want nothing but a body in it to be quite complete.

No bad representation of the body, for the nonce, in his unbending form,
if not in his attitude, Mr Dombey looked down into the cold depths of
the dead sea of mahogany on which the fruit dishes and decanters lay
at anchor: as if the subjects of his thoughts were rising towards the
surface one by one, and plunging down again. Edith was there In all her
majesty of brow and figure; and close to her came Florence, with her
timid head turned to him, as it had been, for an instant, when she
left the room; and Edith's eyes upon her, and Edith's hand put out
protectingly. A little figure in a low arm-chair came springing next
into the light, and looked upon him wonderingly, with its bright eyes
and its old-young face, gleaming as in the flickering of an evening
fire. Again came Florence close upon it, and absorbed his whole
attention. Whether as a fore-doomed difficulty and disappointment to
him; whether as a rival who had crossed him in his way, and might again;
whether as his child, of whom, in his successful wooing, he could
stoop to think as claiming, at such a time, to be no more estranged; or
whether as a hint to him that the mere appearance of caring for his
own blood should be maintained in his new relations; he best knew.
Indifferently well, perhaps, at best; for marriage company and marriage
altars, and ambitious scenes--still blotted here and there with
Florence--always Florence--turned up so fast, and so confusedly, that he
rose, and went upstairs to escape them.

It was quite late at night before candles were brought; for at present
they made Mrs Skewton's head ache, she complained; and in the meantime
Florence and Mrs Skewton talked together (Cleopatra being very anxious
to keep her close to herself), or Florence touched the piano softly
for Mrs Skewton's delight; to make no mention of a few occasions in
the course of the evening, when that affectionate lady was impelled to
solicit another kiss, and which always happened after Edith had said
anything. They were not many, however, for Edith sat apart by an open
window during