“Yes, madam,” replied Mr Dombey; “the deed of settlement, the professional gentlemen inform me, is now ready, and as I was mentioning to you, Edith has only to do us the favour to suggest her own time for its execution.”
Edith sat like a handsome statue; as cold, as silent, and as still.
“My dearest love,” said Cleopatra, “do you hear what Mr Dombey says? Ah, my dear Dombey!” aside to that gentleman, “how her absence, as the time approaches, reminds me of the days, when that most agreeable of creatures, her Papa, was in your situation!”
“I have nothing to suggest. It shall be when you please,” said Edith, scarcely looking over the table at Mr Dombey.
“To-morrow?” suggested Mr Dombey.
“If you please.”
“Or would next day,” said Mr Dombey, “suit your engagements better?”
“I have no engagements. I am always at your disposal. Let it be when you like.”
“No engagements, my dear Edith!” remonstrated her mother, “when you are in a most terrible state of flurry all day long, and have a thousand and one appointments with all sorts of trades-people!”
“They are of your making,” returned Edith, turning on her with a slight contraction of her brow. “You and Mr Dombey can arrange between you.”