Without having undergone any decided second attack of her malady, the old woman seemed to have crawled backward in her recovery from the first. She was more lean and shrunken, more uncertain in her imbecility, and made stranger confusions in her mind and memory. Among other symptoms of this last affliction, she fell into the habit of confounding the names of her two sons-in-law, the living and the deceased; and in general called Mr. Dombey, either `Grangeby,' or `Domber,' or indifferently, both.
But she was youthful, very youthful still; and in her youthfulness appeared at breakfast, before going away, in a new bonnet made express, and a travelling robe that was embroidered and braided like an old baby's. It was not easy to put her into a fly-away bonnet now, or to keep the bonnet in its place on the back of her poor nodding head, when it was got on. In this instance, it had not only the extraneous effect of being always on one side, but of being perpetually tapped on the crown by Flowers the maid, who attended in the background during breakfast to perform that duty.
`Now, my dearest Grangeby,' said Mrs. Skewton, `you must posively prom,' she cut some of her words short, and cut out others altogether, `come down very soon.'
`I said just now, Madam,' returned Mr. Dombey, loudly and laboriously, `that I am coming in a day or two.'
`Bless you, Domber!'
Here the Major, who was come to take leave of the ladies, and who was staring through his apoplectic eyes at Mrs. Skewton's face, with the disinterested composure of an immortal being, said:
`Begad, Ma'am, you don't ask old Joe to come!'
`Sterious wretch, who's he?' lisped Cleopatra. But a tap on the bonnet from Flowers seeming to jog her memory, she added, `Oh! You mean yourself, you naughty creature!'
`Devilish queer, Sir,' whispered the Major to Mr. Dombey. `Bad case. Never did wrap up enough;' the Major being buttoned to the chin. `Why who should J. B. mean by Joe, but old Joe Bagstock--Joseph-- your slave--Joe, Ma'am? Here!Here's the man! Here are the Bagstock bellows, Ma'am!' cried the Major, striking himself a sounding blow on the chest.
`My dearest Edith--Grangeby--it's most trordinry thing,' said Cleopatra, pettishly, `that Major--'
`Bagstock! J. B.!' cried the Major, seeing that she faltered for his name.
`Well, it don't matter,' said Cleopatra. `Edith, my love, you know I never could remember names--what was it? oh!--most trordinry thing that so many people want to come down to see me. I'm not going for long. I'm coming back. Surely they can wait, till I come back!'
Cleopatra looked all round the table as she said it, and appeared very uneasy.
`I won't have visitors--really don't want visitors,' she said; `little repose--and all that sort of thing--is what I quire. No odious brutes must proach me till I've shaken off this numbness;' and in a grisly resumption of her coquettish ways, she made a dab at the Major with her fan, but overset Mr. Dombey's breakfast cup instead, which was in quite a different direction.
Then she called for Withers, and charged him to see particularly that word was left about some trivial alterations in her room, which must be all made before she came back, and which must be set about immediately, as there was no saying how soon she might come back; for she had a great many engagements, and all sorts of people to call upon. Withers received these directions with becoming deference, and gave his guarantee for their execution; but when he withdrew a pace or two behind her, it appeared as if he couldn't help looking strangely at the Major, who couldn't help looking strangely at Mr. Dombey, who couldn't help looking strangely at Cleopatra, who couldn't help nodding her bonnet over one eye, and rattling her knife and fork upon her plate in using them, as if she were playing castanets.