When dinner was announced, Mr Dombey took down an old lady like a
crimson velvet pincushion stuffed with bank notes, who might have been
the identical old lady of Threadneedle Street, she was so rich, and
looked so unaccommodating; Cousin Feenix took down Mrs Dombey; Major
Bagstock took down Mrs Skewton; the young thing with the shoulders was
bestowed, as an extinguisher, upon the East India Director; and the
remaining ladies were left on view in the drawing-room by the
remaining gentlemen, until a forlorn hope volunteered to conduct them
downstairs, and those brave spirits with their captives blocked up the
dining-room door, shutting out seven mild men in the stony-hearted
hall. When all the rest were got in and were seated, one of these mild
men still appeared, in smiling confusion, totally destitute and
unprovided for, and, escorted by the butler, made the complete circuit
of the table twice before his chair could be found, which it finally
was, on Mrs Dombey's left hand; after which the mild man never held up
his head again.
Now, the spacious dining-room, with the company seated round the
glittering table, busy with their glittering spoons, and knives and
forks, and plates, might have been taken for a grown-up exposition of
Tom Tiddler's ground, where children pick up gold and silver.
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