Mrs Pipchin.'

'Very good, Miss,' says Towlinson.

'Shocking circumstances occur, Towlinson,' says Miss Tox.

'Very much so indeed, Miss,' rejoins Towlinson.

'I hope, Towlinson,' says Miss Tox, who, in her instruction of the
Toodle family, has acquired an admonitorial tone, and a habit of
improving passing occasions, 'that what has happened here, will be a
warning to you, Towlinson.'

'Thank you, Miss, I'm sure,' says Towlinson.

He appears to be falling into a consideration of the manner in which
this warning ought to operate in his particular case, when the vinegary
Mrs Pipchin, suddenly stirring him up with a 'What are you doing? Why
don't you show the lady to the door?' he ushers Miss Tox forth. As she
passes Mr Dombey's room, she shrinks into the inmost depths of the black
bonnet, and walks, on tip-toe; and there is not another atom in the
world which haunts him so, that feels such sorrow and solicitude about
him, as Miss Tox takes out under the black bonnet into the street, and
tries to carry home shadowed it from the newly-lighted lamps.

But Miss Tox is not a part of Mr Dombey's world. She comes back every
evening at dusk; adding clogs and an umbrella to the bonnet on wet
nights; and bears the grins of Towlinson, and the huffs and rebuffs
of Mrs Pipchin, and all to ask how he does, and how he bears his
misfortune: but she has nothing to do with Mr Dombey's world. Exacting
and harassing as ever, it goes on without her; and she, a by no means
bright or particular star, moves in her little orbit in the corner of
another system, and knows it quite well, and comes, and cries, and goes
away, and is satisfied. Verily Miss Tox is easier of satisfaction than
the world that troubles Mr Dombey so much!

At the Counting House, the clerks discuss the great disaster in all its
lights and shades, but chiefly wonder who will get Mr Carker's place.
They are generally of opinion that it will be shorn of some of
its emoluments, and made uncomfortable by newly-devised checks and
restrictions; and those who are beyond all hope of it are quite sure
they would rather not have it, and don't at all envy the person for whom
it may prove to be reserved. Nothing like the prevailing sensation has
existed in the Counting House since Mr Dombey's little son died; but all
such excitements there take a social, not to say a jovial turn, and lead
to the cultivation of good fellowship. A reconciliation is established
on this propitious oc