nd dogs' collar seller, at the corner
of the court, would have doubted the propriety of throwing up his
forefinger to the brim of his hat, any more, if Mr Dombey had appeared
there now; and the ticket porter, with his hands under his white apron,
moralised good sound morality about ambition, which (he observed) was
not, in his opinion, made to rhyme to perdition, for nothing.

Mr Morfin, the hazel-eyed bachelor, with the hair and whiskers sprinkled
with grey, was perhaps the only person within the atmosphere of the
House--its head, of course, excepted--who was heartily and deeply
affected by the disaster that had befallen it. He had treated Mr Dombey
with due respect and deference through many years, but he had never
disguised his natural character, or meanly truckled to him, or pampered
his master passion for the advancement of his own purposes. He had,
therefore, no self-disrespect to avenge; no long-tightened springs
to release with a quick recoil. He worked early and late to unravel
whatever was complicated or difficult in the records of the transactions
of the House; was always in attendance to explain whatever required
explanation; sat in his old room sometimes very late at night, studying
points by his mastery of which he could spare Mr Dombey the pain of
being personally referred to; and then would go home to Islington, and
calm his mind by producing the most dismal and forlorn sounds out of his
violoncello before going to bed.

He was solacing himself with this melodious grumbler one evening, and,
having been much dispirited by the proceedings of the day, was scraping
consolation out of its deepest notes, when his landlady (who was
fortunately deaf, and had no other consciousness of these performances
than a sensation of something rumbling in her bones) announced a lady.

'In mourning,' she said.

The violoncello stopped immediately; and the performer, laying it on the
sofa with great tenderness and care, made a sign that the lady was to
come in. He followed directly, and met Harriet Carker on the stair.

'Alone!' he said, 'and John here this morning! Is there anything the
matter, my dear? But no,' he added, 'your face tells quite another
story.'

'I am afraid it is a selfish revelation that you see there, then,' she
answered.

'It is a very pleasant one,' said he; 'and, if selfish, a novelty too,
worth seeing in you. But I don't believe that.'

He had placed a chair for her by this time, and sat down