proving on her successful propitiation of Miss Nipper, and devising some means of having little Florence beside her, lawfully, and without rebellion. An opening happened to present itself that very night.
She had been rung down into the glass room as usual, and had walked about and about it a long time, with the baby in her arms, when, to her great surprise and dismay, Mr. Dombey came out, suddenly, and stopped before her.
"Good evening, Richards."
Just the same austere, stiff gentleman, as he had appeared to her on that first day. Such a hard-looking gentleman, that she involuntarily dropped her eyes and her curtsey at the same time.
"How is Master Paul, Richards?"
"Quite thriving, Sir, and well."
"He looks so," said Mr. Dombey, glancing with great interest at the tiny face she uncovered for his observation, and yet affecting to be half careless of it. "They give you everything you want, I hope?"
"Oh yes, thank you, Sir."
She suddenly appended such an obvious hesitation to this reply, however, that Mr. Dombey, who had turned away; stopped, and turned round again, inquiringly.
"I believe nothing is so good for making children lively and cheerful, Sir, as seeing other children playing about 'em," observed Polly, taking courage.
"I think I mentioned to you, Richards, when you came here," said Mr. Dombey, with a frown, "that I wished you to see as little of your family as possible. You can continue your walk if you please."
With that, he disappeared into his inner room; and Polly had the satisfaction of feeling that he had thoroughly misunderstood her object, and that she had fallen into disgrace without the least advancement of her purpose.
Next night, she found him walking about the conservatory when she came down. As she stopped at the door, checked by this unusual sight, he called her in.
"If you really think that sort of society is good for the child," he said sharply, as if there had been no interval since she proposed it, "where’s Miss Florence?"
"Nothing could be better than Miss Florence, Sir," said Polly eagerly, "but I understood from her maid that they were not to—"
Mr. Dombey rang the bell, and walked till it was answered.
"Tell them always to let Miss Florence be with Richards when she chooses, and go out with her, and so forth. Tell them to let the children be together, when Richards wishes it."
The iron was now hot, and Richards striking on it boldly—it was a good cause and she bold in it, though instinctively afraid of Mr. Dombey—requested that Miss Florence might be sent down then and there, to make friends with her little brother.
She feigned to be dandling the child as the servant retired on this errand, but she thought that she saw Mr. Dombey’s colour changed; that the expression of his face quite altered; that he turned, hurriedly, as if to gainsay what he had said, or she had said, or both, and was only deterred by very shame.
