d the table, adds
persuasively, 'but Miss Florence can't well be the worse for any change,
Tom.' Mr Towlinson's rejoinder, pregnant with frightful meaning, is 'Oh,
can't she though!' and sensible that a mere man can scarcely be more
prophetic, or improve upon that, he holds his peace.

Mrs Skewton, prepared to greet her darling daughter and dear son-in-law
with open arms, is appropriately attired for that purpose in a very
youthful costume, with short sleeves. At present, however, her ripe
charms are blooming in the shade of her own apartments, whence she had
not emerged since she took possession of them a few hours ago, and where
she is fast growing fretful, on account of the postponement of dinner.
The maid who ought to be a skeleton, but is in truth a buxom damsel, is,
on the other hand, In a most amiable state: considering her quarterly
stipend much safer than heretofore, and foreseeing a great improvement
in her board and lodging.

Where are the happy pair, for whom this brave home is waiting? Do
steam, tide, wind, and horses, all abate their speed, to linger on such
happiness? Does the swarm of loves and graces hovering about them retard
their progress by its numbers? Are there so many flowers in their
happy path, that they can scarcely move along, without entanglement in
thornless roses, and sweetest briar?

They are here at last! The noise of wheels is heard, grows louder, and
a carriage drives up to the door! A thundering knock from the obnoxious
foreigner anticipates the rush of Mr Towlinson and party to open it; and
Mr Dombey and his bride alight, and walk in arm in arm.

'My sweetest Edith!' cries an agitated voice upon the stairs. 'My
dearest Dombey!' and the short sleeves wreath themselves about the happy
couple in turn, and embrace them.

Florence had come down to the hall too, but did not advance: reserving
her timid welcome until these nearer and dearer transports should
subside. But the eyes of Edith sought her out, upon the threshold; and
dismissing her sensitive parent with a slight kiss on the cheek, she
hurried on to Florence and embraced her.

'How do you do, Florence?' said Mr Dombey, putting out his hand.

As Florence, trembling, raised it to her lips, she met his glance. The
look was cold and distant enough, but it stirred her heart to think that
she observed in it something more of interest than he had ever
shown before. It even expressed a kind of faint surprise, and not a
disagreeabl