“But his deportment, my dear Louisa!” said Miss Tox. “His presence! His dignity! No portrait that I have ever seen of anyone has been half so replete with those qualities. Something so stately, you know: so uncompromising: so very wide across the chest: so upright! A pecuniary Duke of York, my love, and nothing short of it!” said Miss Tox. “That’s what I should designate him.”
“Why, my dear Paul!” exclaimed his sister, as he returned, “you look quite pale! There’s nothing the matter?”
“I am sorry to say, Louisa, that they tell me that Fanny—”
“Now, my dear Paul,” returned his sister rising, “don’t believe it. Do not allow yourself to receive a turn unnecessarily. Remember of what importance you are to society, and do not allow yourself to be worried by what is so very inconsiderately told you by people who ought to know better. Really I’m surprised at them.”
“I hope I know, Louisa,” said Mr Dombey, stiffly, “how to bear myself before the world.”
“Nobody better, my dear Paul. Nobody half so well. They would be ignorant and base indeed who doubted it.”
“Ignorant and base indeed!” echoed Miss Tox softly.
“But,” pursued Louisa, “if you have any reliance on my experience, Paul, you may rest assured that there is nothing wanting but an effort on Fanny’s part. And that effort,” she continued, taking off her bonnet, and adjusting her cap and gloves, in a business-like manner, “she must be encouraged, and really, if necessary, urged to make. Now, my dear Paul, come upstairs with me.”
Mr Dombey, who, besides being generally influenced by his sister for the reason already mentioned, had really faith in her as an experienced and bustling matron, acquiesced; and followed her, at once, to the sick chamber.
The lady lay upon her bed as he had left her, clasping her little daughter to her breast. The child clung close about her, with the same intensity as before, and never raised her head, or moved her soft cheek from her mother’s face, or looked on those who stood around, or spoke, or moved, or shed a tear.