She answered all these questions with a strange reluctance; and with that remarkable air of opposition to herself, already noticed as belonging to her beauty. Yet she was not embarrassed, but wholly self-possessed. Neither did she seem to wish to avoid the conversation, for she addressed her face, and—so far as she could—her manner also, to him; and continued to do so, when he was silent.
“You have many resources against weariness at least,” said Mr Dombey.
“Whatever their efficiency may be,” she returned, “you know them all now. I have no more.”
“May I hope to prove them all?” said Mr Dombey, with solemn gallantry, laying down a drawing he had held, and motioning towards the harp.
“Oh certainly! If you desire it!”
She rose as she spoke, and crossing by her mother’s couch, and directing a stately look towards her, which was instantaneous in its duration, but inclusive (if anyone had seen it) of a multitude of expressions, among which that of the twilight smile, without the smile itself, overshadowed all the rest, went out of the room.
The Major, who was quite forgiven by this time, had wheeled a little table up to Cleopatra, and was sitting down to play picquet with her. Mr Dombey, not knowing the game, sat down to watch them for his edification until Edith should return.
“We are going to have some music, Mr Dombey, I hope?” said Cleopatra.
“Mrs Granger has been kind enough to promise so,” said Mr Dombey.
“Ah! That’s very nice. Do you propose, Major?”