it was a sad, sad house for many days after that, and florence, in her loneliness, often thought her heart would break. her father she scarcely ever saw, for he sat alone in his room. every night she[pg 192] would steal down the dark hall to his door, and lay her head against the panels, hungering for a little love; but he thought only of his dead son, and gave no sign of tenderness to her.

one of doctor blimber's pupils begged for and brought her diogenes, the old watch-dog which little paul had petted at the school and this dog was all she had to love. she had not seen walter gay since the death of her brother, though he himself thought of her very often.

walter's prospects, thanks to an enemy he had made without knowing it, had changed since then. this enemy was carker, the manager at dombey and son's.

carker was a thin man, with the whitest, most regular teeth, which he continually showed in an unpleasant smile. there was something cat-like about him; the more he disliked a person the wider was his smile. carker had a brother whom he hated, and walter unconsciously earned his enmity by liking and being kind to this brother.

mr. dombey was not fond of walter either, the less so because florence liked him, and disliking florence, he disliked all for whom she cared. so, between mr. dombey and carker, walter was ordered to go, on business for the firm, on a long voyage to the west indies.

walter was not deceived. he knew he was not sent there for his own good, but in order not to worry his uncle he and captain cuttle pretended[pg 193] that it was a splendid opportunity. so old solomon gills tried not to sorrow for his going.

florence heard of the voyage, and, the night before walter sailed, in she came to the little shop where walter had brought her years before when she had been lost. she kissed old sol and called walter her brother, and said she would never forget him.

and so walter, when next day he sailed away, waving his hand to his uncle and captain cuttle, went with even more of love in his heart for florence than he had had.

after his going florence was lonelier than before. she was all alone, save for the dog diogenes and her books and music. her father was much away, and in the evenings she could go into his room and nestle in his easy chair without fear of repulse. she kept the room in order and a fresh nosegay on the table, and never left it without leaving on his deserted desk a kiss and a tear. the purpose of her life, she determined, should be to try continually to let her father know how much she loved him.

but months passed and she had no chance. her father, in fact, seldom came near the house. he was away visiting in the country with a major bagstock, who had struck up an acquaintance with him because of mr. dombey's wealth.

bagstock (who had a habit of referring to himself as "j. b." or "joey b.," or almost anything but[pg 194] his full name) was as fat as a dancing bear, with a purple, apoplectic-looking face, and a laugh like a horse's cough. he was a glutton, and stuffed himself so at meals that he did little but choke and wheeze through the latter half of them. he was a great flatterer, however, and he flattered so well that mr. dombey, blind from his own pride, thought him a very proper person indeed. and even though everybody laughed at the major, mr. dombey always found him most agreeable company.

there was an old lady at the town they visited who was poor, but very fond of fashion and rich people. she had no heart, and was silly enough, even though she was seventy years old, to wear rouge on her cheeks and dress like a girl of seventeen. she had a widowed daughter, edith granger, a proud, lovely woman, who despised the life her mother led, but, in spite of this, was weak enough to be influenced by her.

major bagstock introduced mr. dombey to the mother, and the latter soon made up her mind that her daughter should marry him. the major (who wanted mr. dombey to marry so he himself could profit by the dinners and entertainments that would follow) helped this affair on all he could, and edith, though at times she hated herself for the false part she was playing, agreed to it.

to tell the truth, mr. dombey was so full of his own conceit that he never stopped to wonder if[pg 195] edith could really love him. she was beautiful and as cold and haughty as he was himself, and that was all he considered. so major bagstock and the old lady were soon chuckling and wheezing together with delight at the success of their plan, and before long edith had promised to marry florence's father.

poor florence! she had other griefs of her own by this time. carker, of dombey and son, with the false smile and the white teeth, came several times to see her, asking if she had messages to send to her father—each time seeming purposely to wound her by recalling her father's dislike. she tried to like the smooth, oily manager, but there was something in his face she could not but distrust.

to add to her trouble, the ship by which walter gay had sailed for the west indies had not yet arrived there. it was long overdue, and in the absence of news people began to fear it had been lost. she went to the little shop where the wooden midshipman stood, but found old solomon gills and captain cuttle in as great anxiety.

old sol, indeed, was soon in such distress for fear walter had been drowned, that he felt he could bear the suspense no longer. one day, soon after florence's visit, he disappeared from london, leaving a letter for captain cuttle.

this letter said he had gone to the west indies to search for walter, and asked the captain to care[pg 196] for the little shop and keep it open, so that it could be a home for his nephew if he should ever appear. as for himself, old sol said if he did not return within a year he would be dead, and the captain should take the shop for his own.

the disappearance of his old friend was a great blow to bluff captain cuttle, but, determined to do his part, he left his own lodgings and took up his place at the sign of the wooden midshipman to wait for news either of walter or of old solomon gills.

florence knew nothing about this, for the captain had not the heart to tell her. and, for her own part, she had much to think of in the approaching marriage of her father, in preparation for which the house was full of painters and paper-hangers, making it over for the bride.

the first time florence saw edith was when one day she entered the parlor to find her father there with a strange, beautiful lady beside him. mr. dombey told her the lady would soon be her mama, and edith, touched by the child's sweet face, bent down and kissed her so tenderly that florence, so starved for affection, began at that moment to love her, and to hope through edith's love finally to win the love of her father.

the wedding was a very grand one, and many people were at the church to see it. even captain cuttle watched it from the gallery, and carker's smile, as he looked on, showed more of his white[pg 197] teeth than ever. the only thing that marred florence's happiness and hope on this day was the knowledge that walter had not been heard from and the fear that he might never return.

but in spite of her brave hope, after her father and edith came back from their wedding journey and the life of parties and dinners began, florence was soon disheartened. in the first flush of confidence she opened all her soul to edith and begged her to teach her to win her father's liking. but edith, knowing (as florence did not know) how she had sold herself in this rich marriage and that she had no particle of love in her heart for her husband, told her sadly that she could not help her. this puzzled florence greatly, for she loved edith and knew that edith loved her in return.

in fact, it was florence's trust and innocence that made edith's conscience torture her the more. in florence's pure presence she felt more and more unworthy, and the knowledge that her husband's hardness of heart was crushing the child's life and happiness made her hate him.

florence saw, before many months passed, that her father and edith did not live in love and contentment. indeed, how could they? she had married for ambition, he for pride, and neither loved nor would yield to the other. they had not the same friends or acquaintances. hers were people of fashion; his were men of business. at the dinners they gave, mr. dombey did not think edith[pg 198] treated his friends politely enough. he began to reprove her more and more often, and when she paid no heed he finally chid her openly and sternly in the presence of carker (who brought his smile and gleaming teeth often to the house), knowing this action would most wound edith's pride. and at length he took the management of the house out of her hands and hired as housekeeper mrs. pipchin, the old ogre of brighton, at whose house florence and little paul had once lived.

the worst of it all was that the more mr. dombey grew to dislike his wife the more he saw she loved florence, and this made him detest the poor child more than ever. he imagined, in his cruel selfishness, that as florence had come between him and the love of little paul, so she was now coming between him and his wife. finally he sent carker to edith, telling her she must no longer sit or talk with florence—that they must see each other only in his presence.

florence's cup of bitterness was now almost full, for she knew nothing of this command, and, when she saw that edith avoided her, sorrowed in secret. she was quite alone again now, save for diogenes. neither major bagstock, her father's flatterer, nor carker, with his cat-like smile, could she see without a shudder, and all the while her heart was aching for her father's love.

mr. dombey's insults were heaped more and[pg 199] more upon the defenseless edith, till at last, made desperate by his pride and cruelty, she prepared a terrible revenge. on the morning of the anniversary of their wedding-day mr. dombey was startled by the news that edith had run away with the false-hearted carker!

on that terrible morning, when the proud old man sat stunned in his room, florence, yielding to her first impulse of grief and pity for him, ran to him to comfort him. but when she would have thrown her arms around his neck he lifted his arm and struck her so that she tottered.

and as he did so he bade her follow edith, since they had always been in league!

in that blow florence felt at last his cruelty, neglect and hatred trampling down any feeling of compassion he may once have had for her. she saw she had no longer a father she could love; and, wringing her hands, with her head bent to hide her agony of tears, ran out of the house that could no more be her home, into the heartless street.