"By no means. Where would you wish it taken from?" she answered, turning to him with the same enforced attention as before.
Mr. Dombey, with another bow, which cracked the starch in his cravat, would beg to leave that to the Artist.
"I would rather you chose for yourself," said Edith.
"Suppose then," said Mr. Dombey, "we say from here. It appears a good spot for the purpose, or—Carker, what do you think?"
There happened to be in the foreground, at some little distance, a grove of trees, not unlike that in which Mr. Carker had made his chain of footsteps in the morning, and with a seat under one tree, greatly resembling, in the general character of its situation, the point where his chain had broken.
"Might I venture to suggest to Mrs. Granger," said Carker, "that that is an interesting—almost a curious—point of view?"
She followed the direction of his riding-whip with her eyes, and raised them quickly to his face. It was the second glance they had exchanged since their introduction; and would have been exactly like the first, but that its expression was plainer.
"Will you like that?" said Edith to Mr. Dombey.
"I shall be charmed," said Mr. Dombey to Edith.
Therefore the carriage was driven to the spot where Mr. Dombey was to be charmed; and Edith, without moving from her seat, and opening her sketch-book with her usual proud indifference, began to sketch.
"My pencils are all pointless," she said, stopping and turning them over.
"Pray allow me," said Mr. Dombey. "Or Carker will do it better, as he understands these things. Carker, have the goodness to see to these pencils for Mrs. Granger."
Mr. Carker rode up close to the carriage-door on Mrs. Granger’s side, and letting the rein fall on his horse’s neck, took the pencils from her hand with a smile and a bow, and sat in the saddle leisurely mending them. Having done so, he begged to be allowed to hold them, and to hand them to her as they were required; and thus Mr. Carker, with many commendations of Mrs. Granger’s extraordinary skill—especially in trees—remained—close at her side, looking over the drawing as she made it. Mr. Dombey in the meantime stood bolt upright in the carriage like a highly respectable ghost, looking on too; while Cleopatra and the Major dallied as two ancient doves might do.
"Are you satisfied with that, or shall I finish it a little more?" said Edith, showing the sketch to Mr. Dombey.
Mr. Dombey begged that it might not be touched; it was perfection.
"It is most extraordinary," said Carker, bringing every one of his red gums to bear upon his praise. "I was not prepared for anything so beautiful, and so unusual altogether."
This might have applied to the sketcher no less than to the sketch; but Mr. Carker’s manner was openness itself—not as to his mouth alone, but as to his whole spirit. So it continued to be while the drawing was laid aside for Mr. Dombey, and while the sketching materials were put up; then he handed in the pencils (which were received with a distant acknowledgment of his help, but without a look), and tightening his rein, fell back, and followed the carriage again.
Thinking, perhaps, as he rode, that even this trivial sketch had been made
