he had struggled against even that concession ineffectually, and it
was wrested from her. That was enough! Mr Carker sat down.

'May I be allowed, Madam,' said Carker, turning his white teeth on Mrs
Skewton like a light--'a lady of your excellent sense and quick feeling
will give me credit, for good reason, I am sure--to address what I have
to say, to Mrs Dombey, and to leave her to impart it to you who are her
best and dearest friend--next to Mr Dombey?'

Mrs Skewton would have retired, but Edith stopped her. Edith would have
stopped him too, and indignantly ordered him to speak openly or not at
all, but that he said, in a low Voice--'Miss Florence--the young lady
who has just left the room--'

Edith suffered him to proceed. She looked at him now. As he bent
forward, to be nearer, with the utmost show of delicacy and respect, and
with his teeth persuasively arrayed, in a self-depreciating smile, she
felt as if she could have struck him dead.

'Miss Florence's position,' he began, 'has been an unfortunate one.
I have a difficulty in alluding to it to you, whose attachment to her
father is naturally watchful and jealous of every word that applies to
him.' Always distinct and soft in speech, no language could describe the
extent of his distinctness and softness, when he said these words, or
came to any others of a similar import. 'But, as one who is devoted to
Mr Dombey in his different way, and whose life is passed in admiration
of Mr Dombey's character, may I say, without offence to your tenderness
as a wife, that Miss Florence has unhappily been neglected--by her
father. May I say by her father?'

Edith replied, 'I know it.'

'You know it!' said Mr Carker, with a great appearance of relief. 'It
removes a mountain from my breast. May I hope you know how the neglect
originated; in what an amiable phase of Mr Dombey's pride--character I
mean?'

'You may pass that by, Sir,' she returned, 'and come the sooner to the
end of what you have to say.'

'Indeed, I am sensible, Madam,' replied Carker,--'trust me, I am deeply
sensible, that Mr Dombey can require no justification in anything to
you. But, kindly judge of my breast by your own, and you will forgive my
interest in him, if in its excess, it goes at all astray.

What a stab to her proud heart, to sit there, face to face with him, and
have him tendering her false oath at the altar again and again for her
acceptance, and pressing it upon her like the dregs of a si