“I don’t know.”
“Any intelligence of him?” asks the Major.
“Yes.”
“Dombey, I am rejoiced to hear it,” says the Major. “I congratulate you.”
“You will excuse—even you, Major,” replies Mr Dombey, “my entering into any further detail at present. The intelligence is of a singular kind, and singularly obtained. It may turn out to be valueless; it may turn out to be true; I cannot say at present. My explanation must stop here.”
Although this is but a dry reply to the Major’s purple enthusiasm, the Major receives it graciously, and is delighted to think that the world has such a fair prospect of soon receiving its due. Cousin Feenix is then presented with his meed of acknowledgment by the husband of his lovely and accomplished relative, and Cousin Feenix and Major Bagstock retire, leaving that husband to the world again, and to ponder at leisure on their representation of its state of mind concerning his affairs, and on its just and reasonable expectations.
But who sits in the housekeeper’s room, shedding tears, and talking to Mrs Pipchin in a low tone, with uplifted hands? It is a lady with her face concealed in a very close black bonnet, which appears not to belong to her. It is Miss Tox, who has borrowed this disguise from her servant, and comes from Princess’s Place, thus secretly, to revive her old acquaintance with Mrs Pipchin, in order to get certain information of the state of Mr Dombey.
“How does he bear it, my dear creature?” asks Miss Tox.
“Well,” says Mrs Pipchin, in her snappish way, “he’s pretty much as usual.”
“Externally,” suggests Miss Tox “But what he feels within!”