Mr Dombey signified as much, I thought, when he appointed me.' 'Is it a favour, Walter ?' inquired Florence, after a moment's hesitation, and looking anxiously in his face.
'The appointment ?' returned Walter.
'Yes.' Walter would have given anything to have answered in the affirmative, but his face answered before his lips could, and Florence was too attentive to it not to understand its reply.
'I am afraid you have scarcely been a favourite with Papa,' she said, timidly.
'There is no reason,' replied Walter, smiling, 'why I should be.' 'No reason, Walter!' 'There was no reason,' said Walter, understanding what she meant.

'There are many people employed in the House.

Between Mr Dombey and a young man like me, there's a wide space of separation.

If I do my duty, I do what I ought, and do no more than all the rest.' Had Florence any misgiving of which she was hardly conscious: any misgiving that had sprung into an indistinct and undefined existence since that recent night when she had gone down to her father's room: that Walter's accidental interest in her, and early knowledge of her, might have involved him in that powerful displeasure and dislike?
Had Walter any such idea, or any sudden thought that it was in her mind at that moment?
Neither of them hinted at it.

Neither of them spoke at all, for some short time.