dreadfully disconcerted when the desire of his heart was gained, and he was speaking to her; "thank you, I’m very well indeed, I hope you ’re the same, so was Diogenes yesterday."
"You are very kind," said Florence.
"Thank you, it’s of no consequence," retorted Mr. Toots. "I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind, in this fine weather, coming home by water, Miss Dombey. There’s plenty of room in the boat for your maid."
"I am very much obliged to you," said Florence, hesitating. "I really am—but I would rather not."
"Oh, it’s of no consequence," retorted Mr. Toots. "Good morning."
"Won’t you wait and see Lady Skettles?" asked Florence, kindly.
"Oh no, thank you," returned Mr. Toots, "it’s of no consequence at all."
So shy was Mr. Toots on such occasions, and so flurried! But Lady Skettles entering at the moment, Mr. Toots was suddenly seized with a passion for asking her how she did, and hoping she was very well; nor could Mr. Toots by any possibility leave off shaking hands with her, until Sir Barnet appeared: to whom he immediately clung with the tenacity of desperation.
"We are losing, to-day, Toots," said Sir Barnet, turning towards Florence, "the light of our house, I assure you."
"Oh, it’s of no conseq—I mean yes, to be sure," faltered the embarrassed Mr. Toots. "Good morning!"
Notwithstanding the emphatic nature of this farewell, Mr. Toots, instead of going away, stood leering about him, vacantly. Florence, to relieve him, bade adieu, with many thanks, to Lady Skettles, and gave her arm to Sir Barnet.
"May I beg of you, my dear Miss Dombey," said her host, as he conducted her to the carriage, "to present my best compliments to your dear Papa?"
It was distressing to Florence to receive the commission, for she felt as if she were imposing on Sir Barnet by allowing him to believe that a kindness rendered to her, was rendered to her father. As she could not explain, however, she bowed her head and thanked him; and again she thought that the dull home, free from such embarrassments, and such reminders of her sorrow, was her natural and best retreat.
Such of her late friends and companions as were yet remaining at the villa, came running from within, and from the garden, to say good bye. They were all attached to her, and very earnest in taking leave of her. Even the household were sorry for her going, and the servants came nodding and curtseying round the carriage door. As Florence looked round on the kind faces, and saw among them those of Sir Barnet and his lady, and of Mr. Toots, who was chuckling and staring at her from a distance, she was reminded of the night when Paul and she had come from Doctor Blimber’s: and when the carriage drove away, her face was wet with tears.
Sorrowful tears, but tears of consolation, too; for all the softer memories connected with the dull old house to which she was returning made it dear to her, as they rose up. How long it seemed since she had wandered through the silent rooms: since she had last crept, softly and afraid, into those her father occupied: since she had felt the solemn but yet
