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He had even a dislike at such times to the company of nurse Wickham, and was well pleased when she strolled away. His favourite spot was quite a lonely one, far away from most loungers, and with Florence sitting by his side at work, or reading to him, and the wind blowing on his face, and the water coming up among the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more.

For a year the children stayed at Brighton, going home but twice during that time for a few days, but every Sunday Mr. Dombey spent with them at the Brighton Hotel.

During the year Paul had grown strong enough to give up his carriage, though he still looked thin and delicate, and still remained the same dreamy, quiet child that he had been when consigned to Mrs. Pipchin’s care.

At length, on a Saturday afternoon, Mr. Dombey appeared with the news that he was thinking of removing Paul to the school of one Doctor Blimber, also at Brighton.

“I have had some communication with the doctor, Mrs. Pipchin,” said Mr. Dombey, “and he does not think Paul at all too young for his purposes. My son is getting on, Mrs. Pipchin, really he is getting on.”

“Six years old!” said Mr. Dombey, settling his neckcloth. “Dear me! six will be changed to sixteen before we have time to look about us; and there is no doubt, I fear, that in his studies he is behind many children of his age–or his youth,” said Mr. Dombey–“his youth is a more appropriate expression.

“Now, Mrs. Pipchin, instead of being behind his peers, my son ought to be before them, far before them. There is an eminence ready for him to mount on. There is nothing of chance or doubt before my son. The education of such a young gentleman must not be delayed. It must not be left imperfect. It must be very steadily and seriously undertaken, Mrs. Pipchin.”

“Well, sir,” said Mrs. Pipchin, “I can say nothing to the contrary.” And so to Doctor Blimber’s Paul was sent.

The doctor’s was a mighty fine house fronting the sea. Upon its doorstep one day Paul stood with a fluttering heart, and with his small right hand in his father’s. His other hand was locked in that of Florence. The doctor was sitting in his portentous study, with a globe at each knee, books all round him, Homer over the door and Minerva on the mantel-shelf.

Paul being somewhat too small to be seen from where the doctor sat, over the books on his table, the doctor made several futile attempts to get a view of him round the legs; which Mr. Dombey perceiving, relieved the doctor from his embarrassment by taking Paul up in his arms, and sitting him on another little table in the middle of the room.

“Ha!” said the doctor, leaning back in his chair. “Now I see my little friend. How do you do, my little friend?”

“V-ery well, I thank you, sir,” returned Paul.

“Ha!” said Doctor Blimber. “Shall we make a man of him?”

“Do you hear, Paul?” added Mr. Dombey, Paul being silent.

“I had rather be a child,” replied Paul.

“Indeed!” said the doctor. “Why?”

The child made no audible answer, and Doctor Blimber continued, “You would wish my little friend to acquire—-?”

” Everything, if you please, doctor,” returned Mr. Dombey, firmly.

“Yes,” said the doctor. “Yes, exactly. Ha! We shall impart a great variety of information to our little friend, and bring him quickly forward.”

At this moment Mrs. Blimber entered, followed by her daughter, and they were duly presented to the Dombeys. There was no light nonsense about Miss Blimber. She kept her hair short and crisp and wore spectacles.

Mrs. Blimber, her mama, was not learned herself, but she pretended to be, and that did quite as well. She said at evening parties, that if she could have known Cicero, she thought she could have died content. It was the steady joy of her life to see the doctor’s young gentlemen go out walking, in the largest possible shirt-collars and the stiffest possible cravats. It was so classical, she said.