heart of the Peruvian mines was good. It had a rich sound. Besides, Mr
Dombey was in a state almost amounting to consternation at the idea
of Paul remaining where he was one hour after his removal had been
recommended by the medical practitioner. It was a stoppage and delay
upon the road the child must traverse, slowly at the best, before the
goal was reached. Their recommendation of Mrs Pipchin had great weight
with him; for he knew that they were jealous of any interference with
their charge, and he never for a moment took it into account that they
might be solicitous to divide a responsibility, of which he had, as
shown just now, his own established views. Broke his heart of the
Peruvian mines, mused Mr Dombey. Well! a very respectable way of doing
It.

'Supposing we should decide, on to-morrow's inquiries, to send Paul down
to Brighton to this lady, who would go with him?' inquired Mr Dombey,
after some reflection.

'I don't think you could send the child anywhere at present without
Florence, my dear Paul,' returned his sister, hesitating. 'It's quite an
infatuation with him. He's very young, you know, and has his fancies.'

Mr Dombey turned his head away, and going slowly to the bookcase, and
unlocking it, brought back a book to read.

'Anybody else, Louisa?' he said, without looking up, and turning over
the leaves.

'Wickam, of course. Wickam would be quite sufficient, I should say,'
returned his sister. 'Paul being in such hands as Mrs Pipchin's, you
could hardly send anybody who would be a further check upon her. You
would go down yourself once a week at least, of course.'

'Of course,' said Mr Dombey; and sat looking at one page for an hour
afterwards, without reading one word.

This celebrated Mrs Pipchin was a marvellous ill-favoured,
ill-conditioned old lady, of a stooping figure, with a mottled face,
like bad marble, a hook nose, and a hard grey eye, that looked as if it
might have been hammered at on an anvil without sustaining any injury.
Forty years at least had elapsed since the Peruvian mines had been the
death of Mr Pipchin; but his relict still wore black bombazeen, of such
a lustreless, deep, dead, sombre shade, that gas itself couldn't light
her up after dark, and her presence was a quencher to any number of
candles. She was generally spoken of as 'a great manager' of children;
and the secret of her management was, to give them everything that they
didn't like, and nothing that they did--