nging; the same with the selection of the pieces
that she sang and played. Such frigid and constrained, yet prompt and
pointed acquiescence with the wishes he imposed upon her, and on no one
else, was sufficiently remarkable to penetrate through all the mysteries
of picquet, and impress itself on Mr Carker's keen attention. Nor did he
lose sight of the fact that Mr Dombey was evidently proud of his power,
and liked to show it.

Nevertheless, Mr Carker played so well--some games with the Major, and
some with Cleopatra, whose vigilance of eye in respect of Mr Dombey and
Edith no lynx could have surpassed--that he even heightened his position
in the lady-mother's good graces; and when on taking leave he regretted
that he would be obliged to return to London next morning, Cleopatra
trusted: community of feeling not being met with every day: that it was
far from being the last time they would meet.

'I hope so,' said Mr Carker, with an expressive look at the couple in
the distance, as he drew towards the door, following the Major. 'I think
so.'

Mr Dombey, who had taken a stately leave of Edith, bent, or made some
approach to a bend, over Cleopatra's couch, and said, in a low voice:

'I have requested Mrs Granger's permission to call on her to-morrow
morning--for a purpose--and she has appointed twelve o'clock. May I hope
to have the pleasure of finding you at home, Madam, afterwards?'

Cleopatra was so much fluttered and moved, by hearing this, of course,
incomprehensible speech, that she could only shut her eyes, and shake
her head, and give Mr Dombey her hand; which Mr Dombey, not exactly
knowing what to do with, dropped.

'Dombey, come along!' cried the Major, looking in at the door. 'Damme,
Sir, old Joe has a great mind to propose an alteration in the name of
the Royal Hotel, and that it should be called the Three Jolly Bachelors,
in honour of ourselves and Carker.' With this, the Major slapped Mr
Dombey on the back, and winking over his shoulder at the ladies, with a
frightful tendency of blood to the head, carried him off.

Mrs Skewton reposed on her sofa, and Edith sat apart, by her harp, in
silence. The mother, trifling with her fan, looked stealthily at the
daughter more than once, but the daughter, brooding gloomily with
downcast eyes, was not to be disturbed.

Thus they remained for a long hour, without a word, until Mrs Skewton's
maid appeared, according to custom, to prepare her gradually for night.
At