'Very beneficial, indeed.' 'I purpose,' said Mr Dombey, 'his remaining at Brighton.' Mrs Pipchin rubbed her hands, and bent her grey eyes on the fire.
'But,' pursued Mr Dombey, stretching out his forefinger, 'but possibly that he should now make a change, and lead a different kind of life here.

In short, Mrs Pipchin, that is the object of my visit.

My son is getting on, Mrs Pipchin.

Really, he is getting on.' There was something melancholy in the triumphant air with which Mr Dombey said this.

It showed how long Paul's childish life had been to him, and how his hopes were set upon a later stage of his existence.
Pity may appear a strange word to connect with anyone so haughty and so cold, and yet he seemed a worthy subject for it at that moment.
'Six years old!' said Mr Dombey, settling his neckcloth--perhaps to hide an irrepressible smile that rather seemed to strike upon the surface of his face and glance away, as finding no resting-place, than to play there for an instant.