Bewildering emotions are awakened also by the sight of Florence, with whom every young gentleman immediately falls in love, again; except, as aforesaid, the bilious Bitherstone, who declines to do so, out of contradiction. Black jealousies of Mr. Toots arise, and Briggs is of opinion that he ain’t so very old after all. But this disparaging insinuation is speedily made nought by Mr. Toots saying aloud to Mr. Feeder, B.A., “How are you, Feeder?” and asking him to come and dine with him today at the Bedford; in right of which feats he might set up as Old Parr, if he chose, unquestioned.
There is much shaking of hands, and much bowing, and a great desire on the part of each young gentleman to take Toots down in Miss Dombey’s good graces; and then, Mr. Toots having bestowed a chuckle on his old desk, Florence and he withdraw with Mrs. Blimber and Cornelia; and Doctor Blimber is heard to observe behind them as he comes out last, and shuts the door, “Gentlemen, we will now resume our studies,” For that and little else is what the Doctor hears the sea say, or has heard it saying all his life.
Florence then steals away and goes upstairs to the old bedroom with Mrs. Blimber and Cornelia; Mr. Toots, who feels that neither he nor anybody else is wanted there, stands talking to the Doctor at the study-door, or rather hearing the Doctor talk to him, and wondering how he ever thought the study a great sanctuary, and the Doctor, with his round turned legs, like a clerical pianoforte, an awful man. Florence soon comes down and takes leave; Mr. Toots takes leave; and Diogenes, who has been worrying the weak-eyed young man pitilessly all the time, shoots out at the door, and barks a glad defiance down the cliff; while ’Melia, and another of the Doctor’s female domestics, looks out of an upper window, laughing “at that there Toots,” and saying of Miss Dombey, “But really though, now—ain’t she like her brother, only prettier?”
Mr. Toots, who saw when Florence came down that there were tears upon her face, is desperately anxious and uneasy, and at first fears that he did wrong in proposing the visit. But he is soon relieved by her saying she is very glad to have been there again, and by her talking quite cheerfully about it all, as they walked on by the sea. What with the voices there, and her sweet voice, when they come near Mr. Dombey’s house, and Mr. Toots must leave her, he is so enslaved that he has not a scrap of free will left; when she gives him her hand at parting, he cannot let it go.
“Miss Dombey, I beg your pardon,” says Mr. Toots, in a sad fluster, “but if you would allow me to—to—”
The smiling and unconscious look of Florence brings him to a dead stop.
“If you would allow me to—if you would not consider it a liberty, Miss Dombey, if I was to—without any encouragement at all, if I was to hope, you know,” says Mr. Toots.
Florence looks at him inquiringly.
“Miss Dombey,” says Mr. Toots, who feels that he is in for it now, “I really am in that state of adoration of you that I don’t know what to do with myself. I am the most deplorable wretch. If it wasn’t at the corner of the Square at present, I should go down on my knees, and beg and entreat of you, without any encouragement at all, just to let me hope that I may—may think it possible that you—”
“Oh, if you please, don’t!” cries Florence, for the moment quite alarmed and distressed. “Oh, pray don’t, Mr. Toots. Stop, if you please. Don’t say any more. As a kindness and a favour to me, don’t.”
Mr. Toots is dreadfully abashed, and his mouth opens.
“You have been so good to me,” says Florence, “I am so grateful to you, I have such reason to like you for being a kind friend to me, and I do like you so much;” and here the ingenuous face smiles upon him with the pleasantest look of honesty in the world; “that I am sure you are only going to say goodbye!”
“Certainly, Miss Dombey,” says Mr. Toots, “I—I—that’s exactly what I mean. It’s of no consequence.”
“Goodbye!” cries Florence.
“Goodbye, Miss Dombey!” stammers Mr. Toots. “I hope you won’t think anything about it. It’s—it’s of no consequence, thank you. It’s not of the least consequence in the world.”
Poor Mr. Toots goes home to his hotel in a state of desperation, locks himself into his bedroom, flings himself upon his bed, and lies there for a long time; as if it were of the greatest consequence, nevertheless. But Mr. Feeder, B.A., is coming to dinner, which happens well for Mr. Toots, or there is no knowing when he might get up again. Mr. Toots is obliged to get up to receive him, and to give him hospitable entertainment.
And the generous influence of that social virtue, hospitality (to make no mention of wine and good cheer), opens Mr. Toots’s heart, and warms him to conversation. He does not tell Mr. Feeder, B.A., what passed at the corner of the Square; but when Mr. Feeder asks him “When it is to come off?”
