"After me, old lady!" returned the Manager, putting his hand in his pocket.
"Yes," said the woman, steadfast in her scrutiny, and holding out her shrivelled hand. "I know!"
"What do you know?" demanded Carker, throwing her a shilling. "Do you know who the handsome lady is?"
Munching like that sailor’s wife of yore, who had chestnuts in her lap, and scowling like the witch who asked for some in vain, the old woman picked the shilling up, and going backwards, like a crab, or like a heap of crabs: for her alternately expanding and contracting hands might have represented two of that species, and her creeping face, some half-a-dozen more: crouched on the veinous root of an old tree, pulled out a short black pipe from within the crown of her bonnet, lighted it with a match, and smoked in silence, looking fixedly at her questioner.
Mr. Carker laughed, and turned upon his heel.
"Good!" said the old woman. "One child dead, and one child living: one wife dead, and one wife coming. Go and meet her!"
In spite of himself, the Manager looked round again, and stopped. The old woman, who had not removed her pipe, and was munching and mumbling while she smoked, as if in conversation with an invisible familiar, pointed with her finger in the direction he was going, and laughed.
"What was that you said, Bedlamite?" he demanded.
The woman mumbled, and chattered, and smoked, and still pointed before him; but remained silent. Muttering a farewell that was not complimentary, Mr. Carker pursued his way; but as he turned out of that place, and looked over his shoulder at the root of the old tree, he could yet see the finger pointing before him, and thought he heard the woman screaming, "Go and meet her!"
Preparations for a choice repast were completed, he found, at the hotel; and Mr. Dombey, and the Major, and the breakfast, were awaiting the ladies. Individual constitution has much to do with the development of such facts, no doubt; but in this case, appetite carried it hollow over the tender passion; Mr. Dombey being very cool and collected, and the Major fretting and fuming in a state of violent heat and irritation. At length the door was thrown open by the Native, and, after a pause, occupied by her languishing along the gallery, a very blooming, but not very youthful lady, appeared.
"My dear Mr. Dombey," said the lady, "I am afraid we are late, but Edith has been out already looking for a favourable point of view for a sketch, and kept me waiting for her. Falsest of Majors," giving him her little finger, "how do you do?"
"Mrs Skewton," said Mr. Dombey, "let me gratify my friend Carker:" Mr. Dombey unconsciously emphasised the word friend, as saying 'no really; I do allow him to take credit for that distinction:' "by presenting him to you. You have heard me mention Mr. Carker."
"I am charmed, I am sure," said Mrs. Skewton, graciously.
Mr. Carker was charmed, of course. Would he have been more charmed on Mr. Dombey’s behalf, if Mrs Skewton had been (as he at first supposed her) the Edith whom they had toasted overnight?
"Why, where, for Heaven’s sake, is Edith?" exclaimed Mrs. Skewton, looking round. "Still at the door, giving Withers orders about the
