passage of his life, put forth by even this rebellious woman, as powerful where he was powerless, and everything where he was nothing!
He turned on Florence, as if it were she who had spoken, and bade her leave the room. Florence with her covered face obeyed, trembling and weeping as she went.
`I understand, Madam,' said Mr. Dombey, with an angry flush of triumph, `the spirit of opposition that turned your affections in that channel, but they have been met, Mrs. Dombey; they have been met, and turned back!'
`The worse for you!' she answered, with her voice and manner still unchanged. `Aye!' for he turned sharply when she said so, `what is the worse for me, is twenty million times the worse for you. Heed that, if you heed nothing else.'
The arch of diamonds spanning her dark hair, flashed and glittered like a starry bridge. There was no warning in them, or they would have turned as dull and dim as tarnished honour. Carker still sat and listened, with his eyes cast down.
`Mrs. Dombey,' said Mr. Dombey, resuming as much as he could of his arrogant composure, `you will not conciliate me, or turn me from any purpose, by this course of conduct.'
`It is the only true although it is a faint expression of what is within me,' she replied. `But if I thought it would conciliate you, I would repress it, if it were repressible by any human effort. I will do nothing that you ask.'
`I am not accustomed to ask, Mrs. Dombey,' he observed; `I direct.'
`I will hold no place in your house to-morrow, or on any recurrence of to-morrow. I will be exhibited to no one, as the refractory slave you purchased, such a time. If I kept my marriage-day, I would keep it as a day of shame. Self-respect!appearances before the world! what are these to me? You have done all you can to make them nothing to me, and they are nothing.'
`Carker,' said Mr. Dombey, speaking with knitted brows, and after a moment's consideration, `Mrs. Dombey is so forgetful of herself and me in all this, and places me in a position so unsuited to my character, that I must bring this state of matters to a close.'
`Release me, then,' said Edith, immoveable in voice, in look, and bearing, as she had been throughout, `from the chain by which I am bound. Let me go.'
`Madam?' exclaimed Mr. Dombey.
`Loose me. Set me free!'
`Madam?' he repeated. `Mrs. Dombey?'
`Tell him,' said Edith, addressing her proud face to Carker, `that I wish for a separation between us. That there had better be one. That I recommend it to him. Tell him it may take place on his own terms--his wealth is nothing to me--but that it cannot be too soon.'
`Good Heaven, Mrs. Dombey!' said her husband, with supreme amazement, `do you imagine it possible that I could ever listen to such a proposition? Do you know who I am, Madam? Do you know what I represent? Did you ever hear of Dombey and Son? People to say that Mr. Dombey--Mr. Dombey!-- was separated from his wife! Common people to talk of Mr. Dombey and his domestic affairs! Do you seriously think, Mrs. Dombey, that I would permit my name to be handed about in such connexion? Pooh, pooh, Madam! Fie for shame! You're absurd.' Mr. Dombey absolutely laughed.