at it.

'My dear love,' drawled Mrs Skewton, 'how very odd to send that message
without seeing the name! Bring it here, Withers. Dear me, my love; Mr
Carker, too! That very sensible person!'

'I am going out,' repeated Edith, in so imperious a tone that Withers,
going to the door, imperiously informed the servant who was waiting,
'Mrs Dombey is going out. Get along with you,' and shut it on him.'

But the servant came back after a short absence, and whispered to
Withers again, who once more, and not very willingly, presented himself
before Mrs Dombey.

'If you please, Ma'am, Mr Carker sends his respectful compliments, and
begs you would spare him one minute, if you could--for business, Ma'am,
if you please.'

'Really, my love,' said Mrs Skewton in her mildest manner; for her
daughter's face was threatening; 'if you would allow me to offer a word,
I should recommend--'

'Show him this way,' said Edith. As Withers disappeared to execute
the command, she added, frowning on her mother, 'As he comes at your
recommendation, let him come to your room.'

'May I--shall I go away?' asked Florence, hurriedly.

Edith nodded yes, but on her way to the door Florence met the visitor
coming in. With the same disagreeable mixture of familiarity and
forbearance, with which he had first addressed her, he addressed her now
in his softest manner--hoped she was quite well--needed not to ask, with
such looks to anticipate the answer--had scarcely had the honour to know
her, last night, she was so greatly changed--and held the door open for
her to pass out; with a secret sense of power in her shrinking from
him, that all the deference and politeness of his manner could not quite
conceal.

He then bowed himself for a moment over Mrs Skewton's condescending
hand, and lastly bowed to Edith. Coldly returning his salute without
looking at him, and neither seating herself nor inviting him to be
seated, she waited for him to speak.

Entrenched in her pride and power, and with all the obduracy of her
spirit summoned about her, still her old conviction that she and her
mother had been known by this man in their worst colours, from their
first acquaintance; that every degradation she had suffered in her own
eyes was as plain to him as to herself; that he read her life as though
it were a vile book, and fluttered the leaves before her in slight
looks and tones of voice which no one else could detect; weakened
and undermined her. Proudly as