But he could remember, when he got home, and was carried up the well-remembered stairs, that there had been the rumbling of a coach for many hours together, while he lay upon the seat, with Florence still beside him, and old Mrs Pipchin sitting opposite. He remembered his old bed too, when they laid him down in it: his aunt, Miss Tox, and Susan: but there was something else, and recent too, that still perplexed him.
“I want to speak to Florence, if you please,” he said. “To Florence by herself, for a moment!”
She bent down over him, and the others stood away.
“Floy, my pet, wasn’t that Papa in the hall, when they brought me from the coach?”
“Yes, dear.”
“He didn’t cry, and go into his room, Floy, did he, when he saw me coming in?”
Florence shook her head, and pressed her lips against his cheek.
“I’m very glad he didn’t cry,” said little Paul. “I thought he did. Don’t tell them that I asked.”
CHAPTER XV.
Amazing Artfulness of Captain Cuttle, and a new Pursuit for Walter Gay
Walter could not, for several days, decide what to do in the Barbados business; and even cherished some faint hope that Mr Dombey might not have meant what he had said, or that he might change his mind, and tell him he was not to go. But as nothing occurred to give this idea (which was sufficiently improbable in itself) any touch of confirmation, and as time was slipping by, and he had none to lose, he felt that he must act, without hesitating any longer.