“You have been looking over the way, Sir,” observed the Major. “Have you seen our friend?”
“You mean Miss Tox,” retorted Mr Dombey. “No.”
“Charming woman, Sir,” said the Major, with a fat laugh rising in his short throat, and nearly suffocating him.
“Miss Tox is a very good sort of person, I believe,” replied Mr Dombey.
The haughty coldness of the reply seemed to afford Major Bagstock infinite delight. He swelled and swelled, exceedingly: and even laid down his knife and fork for a moment, to rub his hands.
“Old Joe, Sir,” said the Major, “was a bit of a favourite in that quarter once. But Joe has had his day. J. Bagstock is extinguished—outrivalled—floored, Sir.”
“I should have supposed,” Mr Dombey replied, “that the lady’s day for favourites was over: but perhaps you are jesting, Major.”
“Perhaps you are jesting, Dombey?” was the Major’s rejoinder.
There never was a more unlikely possibility. It was so clearly expressed in Mr Dombey’s face, that the Major apologised.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I see you are in earnest. I tell you what, Dombey.” The Major paused in his eating, and looked mysteriously indignant. “That’s a de-vilish ambitious woman, Sir.”