uld say, never.
Never!'

'Thank'ee!' said Mr Toots. 'It's of no consequence. Good-night. It's of
no consequence, thank'ee!'

CHAPTER 45. The Trusty Agent

Edith went out alone that day, and returned home early. It was but a few
minutes after ten o'clock, when her carriage rolled along the street in
which she lived.

There was the same enforced composure on her face, that there had been
when she was dressing; and the wreath upon her head encircled the same
cold and steady brow. But it would have been better to have seen its
leaves and flowers reft into fragments by her passionate hand, or
rendered shapeless by the fitful searches of a throbbing and bewildered
brain for any resting-place, than adorning such tranquillity. So
obdurate, so unapproachable, so unrelenting, one would have thought that
nothing could soften such a woman's nature, and that everything in life
had hardened it.

Arrived at her own door, she was alighting, when some one coming quietly
from the hall, and standing bareheaded, offered her his arm. The servant
being thrust aside, she had no choice but to touch it; and she then knew
whose arm it was.

'How is your patient, Sir?' she asked, with a curled lip.

'He is better,' returned Carker. 'He is doing very well. I have left him
for the night.'

She bent her head, and was passing up the staircase, when he followed
and said, speaking at the bottom:

'Madam! May I beg the favour of a minute's audience?'

She stopped and turned her eyes back 'It is an unseasonable time, Sir,
and I am fatigued. Is your business urgent?'

'It is very urgent, returned Carker. 'As I am so fortunate as to have
met you, let me press my petition.'

She looked down for a moment at his glistening mouth; and he looked up
at her, standing above him in her stately dress, and thought, again, how
beautiful she was.

'Where is Miss Dombey?' she asked the servant, aloud.

'In the morning room, Ma'am.'

'Show the way there!' Turning her eyes again on the attentive gentleman
at the bottom of the stairs, and informing him with a slight motion of
her head, that he was at liberty to follow, she passed on.

'I beg your pardon! Madam! Mrs Dombey!' cried the soft and nimble
Carker, at her side in a moment. 'May I be permitted to entreat that
Miss Dombey is not present?'

She confronted him, with a quick look, but with the same self-possession
and steadiness.

'I would spare Miss Dombey,' said Carker, in a low voice,