Mrs. Nickleby had not felt so proud and important for many a day, as when, on reaching home, she gave herself wholly up to the pleasant visions which had accompanied her on her way thither1. Lady Mulberry Hawk2—that was the prevalent idea. Lady Mulberry Hawk!—On Tuesday last, at St George’s, Hanover Square, by the Right Reverend the Bishop3 of Llandaff, Sir Mulberry Hawk, of Mulberry Castle, North Wales, to Catherine, only daughter of the late Nicholas Nickleby, Esquire, of Devonshire. ‘Upon my word!’ cried Mrs. Nicholas Nickleby, ‘it sounds very well.’
Having dispatched the ceremony, with its attendant festivities, to the perfect satisfaction of her own mind, the sanguine4 mother pictured to her imagination a long train of honours and distinctions which could not fail to accompany Kate in her new and brilliant sphere. She would be presented at court, of course. On the anniversary of her birthday, which was upon the nineteenth of July (‘at ten minutes past three o’clock in the morning,’ thought Mrs. Nickleby in a parenthesis5, ‘for I recollect6 asking what o’clock it was’), Sir Mulberry would give a great feast to all his tenants7, and would return them three and a half per cent on the amount of their last half-year’s rent, as would be fully9 described and recorded in the fashionable intelligence, to the immeasurable delight and admiration10 of all the readers thereof. Kate’s picture, too, would be in at least half-a-dozen of the annuals, and on the opposite page would appear, in delicate type, ‘Lines on contemplating11 the Portrait of Lady Mulberry Hawk. By Sir Dingleby Dabber.’ Perhaps some one annual, of more comprehensive design than its fellows, might even contain a portrait of the mother of Lady Mulberry Hawk, with lines by the father of Sir Dingleby Dabber. More unlikely things had come to pass. Less interesting portraits had appeared. As this thought occurred to the good lady, her countenance12 unconsciously assumed that compound expression of simpering and sleepiness which, being common to all such portraits, is perhaps one reason why they are always so charming and agreeable.
With such triumphs of aerial architecture did Mrs. Nickleby occupy the whole evening after her accidental introduction to Ralph’s titled friends; and dreams, no less prophetic and equally promising13, haunted her sleep that night. She was preparing for her frugal14 dinner next day, still occupied with the same ideas—a little softened15 down perhaps by sleep and daylight—when the girl who attended her, partly for company, and partly to assist in the household affairs, rushed into the room in unwonted agitation16, and announced that two gentlemen were waiting in the passage for permission to walk upstairs.
‘Bless my heart!’ cried Mrs. Nickleby, hastily arranging her cap and front, ‘if it should be—dear me, standing17 in the passage all this time—why don’t you go and ask them to walk up, you stupid thing?’
While the girl was gone on this errand, Mrs. Nickleby hastily swept into a cupboard all vestiges18 of eating and drinking; which she had scarcely done, and seated herself with looks as collected as she could assume, when two gentlemen, both perfect strangers, presented themselves.
‘How do you do?’ said the other gentleman, altering the emphasis, as if to give variety to the salutation.
Mrs. Nickleby curtseyed and smiled, and curtseyed again, and remarked, rubbing her hands as she did so, that she hadn’t the—really—the honour to—
‘To know us,’ said the first gentleman. ‘The loss has been ours, Mrs Nickleby. Has the loss been ours, Pyke?’
‘It has, Pluck,’ answered the other gentleman.
‘We have regretted it very often, I believe, Pyke?’ said the first gentleman.
‘Very often, Pluck,’ answered the second.
‘But now,’ said the first gentleman, ‘now we have the happiness we have pined and languished20 for. Have we pined and languished for this happiness, Pyke, or have we not?’
‘You know we have, Pluck,’ said Pyke, reproachfully.
‘You hear him, ma’am?’ said Mr. Pluck, looking round; ‘you hear the unimpeachable21 testimony22 of my friend Pyke—that reminds me,—formalities, formalities, must not be neglected in civilised society. Pyke—Mrs Nickleby.’
Mr. Pyke laid his hand upon his heart, and bowed low.
‘Whether I shall introduce myself with the same formality,’ said Mr. Pluck—‘whether I shall say myself that my name is Pluck, or whether I shall ask my friend Pyke (who being now regularly introduced, is competent to the office) to state for me, Mrs. Nickleby, that my name is Pluck; whether I shall claim your acquaintance on the plain ground of the strong interest I take in your welfare, or whether I shall make myself known to you as the friend of Sir Mulberry Hawk—these, Mrs. Nickleby, are considerations which I leave to you to determine.’
‘Any friend of Sir Mulberry Hawk’s requires no better introduction to me,’ observed Mrs. Nickleby, graciously.
‘It is delightful23 to hear you say so,’ said Mr. Pluck, drawing a chair close to Mrs. Nickleby, and sitting himself down. ‘It is refreshing24 to know that you hold my excellent friend, Sir Mulberry, in such high esteem25. A word in your ear, Mrs. Nickleby. When Sir Mulberry knows it, he will be a happy man—I say, Mrs. Nickleby, a happy man. Pyke, be seated.’
‘My good opinion,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, and the poor lady exulted26 in the idea that she was marvellously sly,—‘my good opinion can be of very little consequence to a gentleman like Sir Mulberry.’
‘Of little consequence!’ exclaimed Mr. Pluck. ‘Pyke, of what consequence to our friend, Sir Mulberry, is the good opinion of Mrs. Nickleby?’
‘Of what consequence?’ echoed Pyke.
‘Ay,’ repeated Pluck; ‘is it of the greatest consequence?’
‘Of the very greatest consequence,’ replied Pyke.
‘Mrs. Nickleby cannot be ignorant,’ said Mr. Pluck, ‘of the immense impression which that sweet girl has—’
‘Pluck!’ said his friend, ‘beware!’
‘Pyke is right,’ muttered Mr. Pluck, after a short pause; ‘I was not to mention it. Pyke is very right. Thank you, Pyke.’
Mr. Pluck, after feigning29 to be in a condition of great embarrassment30 for some minutes, resumed the conversation by entreating31 Mrs. Nickleby to take no heed33 of what he had inadvertently said—to consider him imprudent, rash, injudicious. The only stipulation34 he would make in his own favour was, that she should give him credit for the best intentions.
‘But when,’ said Mr. Pluck, ‘when I see so much sweetness and beauty on the one hand, and so much ardour and devotion on the other, I—pardon me, Pyke, I didn’t intend to resume that theme. Change the subject, Pyke.’
‘We promised Sir Mulberry and Lord Frederick,’ said Pyke, ‘that we’d call this morning and inquire whether you took any cold last night.’
‘Not the least in the world last night, sir,’ replied Mrs. Nickleby, ‘with many thanks to his lordship and Sir Mulberry for doing me the honour to inquire; not the least—which is the more singular, as I really am very subject to colds, indeed—very subject. I had a cold once,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, ‘I think it was in the year eighteen hundred and seventeen; let me see, four and five are nine, and—yes, eighteen hundred and seventeen, that I thought I never should get rid of; actually and seriously, that I thought I never should get rid of. I was only cured at last by a remedy that I don’t know whether you ever happened to hear of, Mr. Pluck. You have a gallon of water as hot as you can possibly bear it, with a pound of salt, and sixpen’orth of the finest bran, and sit with your head in it for twenty minutes every night just before going to bed; at least, I don’t mean your head—your feet. It’s a most extraordinary cure—a most extraordinary cure. I used it for the first time, I recollect, the day after Christmas Day, and by the middle of April following the cold was gone. It seems quite a miracle when you come to think of it, for I had it ever since the beginning of September.’
‘But it’s worth the pain of hearing, only to know that Mrs. Nickleby recovered it, isn’t it, Pluck?’ cried Mr. Pyke.
‘That is the circumstance which gives it such a thrilling interest,’ replied Mr. Pluck.
‘But come,’ said Pyke, as if suddenly recollecting39 himself; ‘we must not forget our mission in the pleasure of this interview. We come on a mission, Mrs. Nickleby.’
‘On a mission,’ exclaimed that good lady, to whose mind a definite proposal of marriage for Kate at once presented itself in lively colours.
‘From Sir Mulberry,’ replied Pyke. ‘You must be very dull here.’
‘Rather dull, I confess,’ said Mrs. Nickleby.
‘We bring the compliments of Sir Mulberry Hawk, and a thousand entreaties40 that you’ll take a seat in a private box at the play tonight,’ said Mr Pluck.
‘Oh dear!’ said Mrs. Nickleby, ‘I never go out at all, never.’
‘And that is the very reason, my dear Mrs. Nickleby, why you should go out tonight,’ retorted Mr. Pluck. ‘Pyke, entreat32 Mrs. Nickleby.’
‘Oh, pray do,’ said Pyke.
‘You positively41 must,’ urged Pluck.
‘You are very kind,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, hesitating; ‘but—’
‘There’s not a but in the case, my dear Mrs. Nickleby,’ remonstrated42 Mr Pluck; ‘not such a word in the vocabulary. Your brother-in-law joins us, Lord Frederick joins us, Sir Mulberry joins us, Pyke joins us—a refusal is out of the question. Sir Mulberry sends a carriage for you—twenty minutes before seven to the moment—you’ll not be so cruel as to disappoint the whole party, Mrs. Nickleby?’
‘Say nothing; not a word, not a word, my dearest madam,’ urged Mr. Pluck. ‘Mrs. Nickleby,’ said that excellent gentleman, lowering his voice, ‘there is the most trifling44, the most excusable breach45 of confidence in what I am about to say; and yet if my friend Pyke there overheard it—such is that man’s delicate sense of honour, Mrs. Nickleby—he’d have me out before dinner-time.’
Mrs. Nickleby cast an apprehensive47 glance at the warlike Pyke, who had walked to the window; and Mr. Pluck, squeezing her hand, went on:
‘Your daughter has made a conquest—a conquest on which I may congratulate you. Sir Mulberry, my dear ma’am, Sir Mulberry is her devoted48 slave. Hem8!’
0378m
Original
‘Hah!’ cried Mr. Pyke at this juncture49, snatching something from the chimney-piece with a theatrical50 air. ‘What is this! what do I behold51!’
‘What do you behold, my dear fellow?’ asked Mr. Pluck.
‘It is the face, the countenance, the expression,’ cried Mr. Pyke, falling into his chair with a miniature in his hand; ‘feebly portrayed52, imperfectly caught, but still the face, the countenance, the expression.’
‘I recognise it at this distance!’ exclaimed Mr. Pluck in a fit of enthusiasm. ‘Is it not, my dear madam, the faint similitude of—’
‘It is my daughter’s portrait,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, with great pride. And so it was. And little Miss La Creevy had brought it home for inspection53 only two nights before.
Mr. Pyke no sooner ascertained54 that he was quite right in his conjecture55, than he launched into the most extravagant56 encomiums of the divine original; and in the warmth of his enthusiasm kissed the picture a thousand times, while Mr. Pluck pressed Mrs. Nickleby’s hand to his heart, and congratulated her on the possession of such a daughter, with so much earnestness and affection, that the tears stood, or seemed to stand, in his eyes. Poor Mrs. Nickleby, who had listened in a state of enviable complacency at first, became at length quite overpowered by these tokens of regard for, and attachment57 to, the family; and even the servant girl, who had peeped in at the door, remained rooted to the spot in astonishment58 at the ecstasies59 of the two friendly visitors.
By degrees these raptures60 subsided61, and Mrs. Nickleby went on to entertain her guests with a lament62 over her fallen fortunes, and a picturesque63 account of her old house in the country: comprising a full description of the different apartments, not forgetting the little store-room, and a lively recollection of how many steps you went down to get into the garden, and which way you turned when you came out at the parlour door, and what capital fixtures64 there were in the kitchen. This last reflection naturally conducted her into the wash-house, where she stumbled upon the brewing65 utensils66, among which she might have wandered for an hour, if the mere67 mention of those implements68 had not, by an association of ideas, instantly reminded Mr. Pyke that he was ‘amazing thirsty.’
‘And I’ll tell you what,’ said Mr. Pyke; ‘if you’ll send round to the public-house for a pot of milk half-and-half, positively and actually I’ll drink it.’
And positively and actually Mr. Pyke did drink it, and Mr. Pluck helped him, while Mrs. Nickleby looked on in divided admiration of the condescension69 of the two, and the aptitude70 with which they accommodated themselves to the pewter-pot; in explanation of which seeming marvel27 it may be here observed, that gentlemen who, like Messrs Pyke and Pluck, live upon their wits (or not so much, perhaps, upon the presence of their own wits as upon the absence of wits in other people) are occasionally reduced to very narrow shifts and straits, and are at such periods accustomed to regale71 themselves in a very simple and primitive72 manner.
‘At twenty minutes before seven, then,’ said Mr. Pyke, rising, ‘the coach will be here. One more look—one little look—at that sweet face. Ah! here it is. Unmoved, unchanged!’ This, by the way, was a very remarkable73 circumstance, miniatures being liable to so many changes of expression—‘Oh, Pluck! Pluck!’
Mr. Pluck made no other reply than kissing Mrs. Nickleby’s hand with a great show of feeling and attachment; Mr. Pyke having done the same, both gentlemen hastily withdrew.
Mrs. Nickleby was commonly in the habit of giving herself credit for a pretty tolerable share of penetration74 and acuteness, but she had never felt so satisfied with her own sharp-sightedness as she did that day. She had found it all out the night before. She had never seen Sir Mulberry and Kate together—never even heard Sir Mulberry’s name—and yet hadn’t she said to herself from the very first, that she saw how the case stood? and what a triumph it was, for there was now no doubt about it. If these flattering attentions to herself were not sufficient proofs, Sir Mulberry’s confidential75 friend had suffered the secret to escape him in so many words. ‘I am quite in love with that dear Mr. Pluck, I declare I am,’ said Mrs. Nickleby.
There was one great source of uneasiness in the midst of this good fortune, and that was the having nobody by, to whom she could confide46 it. Once or twice she almost resolved to walk straight to Miss La Creevy’s and tell it all to her. ‘But I don’t know,’ thought Mrs. Nickleby; ‘she is a very worthy person, but I am afraid too much beneath Sir Mulberry’s station for us to make a companion of. Poor thing!’ Acting76 upon this grave consideration she rejected the idea of taking the little portrait painter into her confidence, and contented77 herself with holding out sundry78 vague and mysterious hopes of preferment to the servant girl, who received these obscure hints of dawning greatness with much veneration79 and respect.
Punctual to its time came the promised vehicle, which was no hackney coach, but a private chariot, having behind it a footman, whose legs, although somewhat large for his body, might, as mere abstract legs, have set themselves up for models at the Royal Academy. It was quite exhilarating to hear the clash and bustle80 with which he banged the door and jumped up behind after Mrs. Nickleby was in; and as that good lady was perfectly unconscious that he applied81 the gold-headed end of his long stick to his nose, and so telegraphed most disrespectfully to the coachman over her very head, she sat in a state of much stiffness and dignity, not a little proud of her position.
At the theatre entrance there was more banging and more bustle, and there were also Messrs Pyke and Pluck waiting to escort her to her box; and so polite were they, that Mr. Pyke threatened with many oaths to ‘smifligate’ a very old man with a lantern who accidentally stumbled in her way—to the great terror of Mrs. Nickleby, who, conjecturing82 more from Mr. Pyke’s excitement than any previous acquaintance with the etymology83 of the word that smifligation and bloodshed must be in the main one and the same thing, was alarmed beyond expression, lest something should occur. Fortunately, however, Mr. Pyke confined himself to mere verbal smifligation, and they reached their box with no more serious interruption by the way, than a desire on the part of the same pugnacious84 gentleman to ‘smash’ the assistant box-keeper for happening to mistake the number.
Mrs. Nickleby had scarcely been put away behind the curtain of the box in an armchair, when Sir Mulberry and Lord Verisopht arrived, arrayed from the crowns of their heads to the tips of their gloves, and from the tips of their gloves to the toes of their boots, in the most elegant and costly85 manner. Sir Mulberry was a little hoarser86 than on the previous day, and Lord Verisopht looked rather sleepy and queer; from which tokens, as well as from the circumstance of their both being to a trifling extent unsteady upon their legs, Mrs. Nickleby justly concluded that they had taken dinner.
‘We have been—we have been—toasting your lovely daughter, Mrs Nickleby,’ whispered Sir Mulberry, sitting down behind her.
‘Oh, ho!’ thought that knowing lady; ‘wine in, truth out.—You are very kind, Sir Mulberry.’
‘No, no upon my soul!’ replied Sir Mulberry Hawk. ‘It’s you that’s kind, upon my soul it is. It was so kind of you to come tonight.’
‘So very kind of you to invite me, you mean, Sir Mulberry,’ replied Mrs Nickleby, tossing her head, and looking prodigiously87 sly.
‘I am so anxious to know you, so anxious to cultivate your good opinion, so desirous that there should be a delicious kind of harmonious88 family understanding between us,’ said Sir Mulberry, ‘that you mustn’t think I’m disinterested89 in what I do. I’m infernal selfish; I am—upon my soul I am.’
‘I am sure you can’t be selfish, Sir Mulberry!’ replied Mrs. Nickleby. ‘You have much too open and generous a countenance for that.’
‘What an extraordinary observer you are!’ said Sir Mulberry Hawk.
‘Oh no, indeed, I don’t see very far into things, Sir Mulberry,’ replied Mrs. Nickleby, in a tone of voice which left the baronet to infer that she saw very far indeed.
‘I am quite afraid of you,’ said the baronet. ‘Upon my soul,’ repeated Sir Mulberry, looking round to his companions; ‘I am afraid of Mrs. Nickleby. She is so immensely sharp.’
Messrs Pyke and Pluck shook their heads mysteriously, and observed together that they had found that out long ago; upon which Mrs. Nickleby tittered, and Sir Mulberry laughed, and Pyke and Pluck roared.
‘But where’s my brother-in-law, Sir Mulberry?’ inquired Mrs. Nickleby. ‘I shouldn’t be here without him. I hope he’s coming.’
‘Pyke,’ said Sir Mulberry, taking out his toothpick and lolling back in his chair, as if he were too lazy to invent a reply to this question. ‘Where’s Ralph Nickleby?’
‘Pluck,’ said Pyke, imitating the baronet’s action, and turning the lie over to his friend, ‘where’s Ralph Nickleby?’
Mr. Pluck was about to return some evasive reply, when the hustle91 caused by a party entering the next box seemed to attract the attention of all four gentlemen, who exchanged glances of much meaning. The new party beginning to converse92 together, Sir Mulberry suddenly assumed the character of a most attentive93 listener, and implored94 his friends not to breathe—not to breathe.
‘Why not?’ said Mrs. Nickleby. ‘What is the matter?’
‘Hush!’ replied Sir Mulberry, laying his hand on her arm. ‘Lord Frederick, do you recognise the tones of that voice?’
‘Deyvle take me if I didn’t think it was the voice of Miss Nickleby.’
‘Lor, my lord!’ cried Miss Nickleby’s mama, thrusting her head round the curtain. ‘Why actually—Kate, my dear, Kate.’
‘You here, mama! Is it possible!’
‘Possible, my dear? Yes.’
‘Why who—who on earth is that you have with you, mama?’ said Kate, shrinking back as she caught sight of a man smiling and kissing his hand.
‘Who do you suppose, my dear?’ replied Mrs. Nickleby, bending towards Mrs Wititterly, and speaking a little louder for that lady’s edification. ‘There’s Mr. Pyke, Mr. Pluck, Sir Mulberry Hawk, and Lord Frederick Verisopht.’
‘Gracious Heaven!’ thought Kate hurriedly. ‘How comes she in such society?’
Now, Kate thought thus so hurriedly, and the surprise was so great, and moreover brought back so forcibly the recollection of what had passed at Ralph’s delectable95 dinner, that she turned extremely pale and appeared greatly agitated96, which symptoms being observed by Mrs. Nickleby, were at once set down by that acute lady as being caused and occasioned by violent love. But, although she was in no small degree delighted by this discovery, which reflected so much credit on her own quickness of perception, it did not lessen97 her motherly anxiety in Kate’s behalf; and accordingly, with a vast quantity of trepidation98, she quitted her own box to hasten into that of Mrs. Wititterly. Mrs. Wititterly, keenly alive to the glory of having a lord and a baronet among her visiting acquaintance, lost no time in signing to Mr. Wititterly to open the door, and thus it was that in less than thirty seconds Mrs. Nickleby’s party had made an irruption into Mrs. Wititterly’s box, which it filled to the very door, there being in fact only room for Messrs Pyke and Pluck to get in their heads and waistcoats.
‘My dear Kate,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, kissing her daughter affectionately. ‘How ill you looked a moment ago! You quite frightened me, I declare!’
‘It was mere fancy, mama,—the—the—reflection of the lights perhaps,’ replied Kate, glancing nervously99 round, and finding it impossible to whisper any caution or explanation.
‘Don’t you see Sir Mulberry Hawk, my dear?’
Kate bowed slightly, and biting her lip turned her head towards the stage.
But Sir Mulberry Hawk was not to be so easily repulsed100, for he advanced with extended hand; and Mrs. Nickleby officiously informing Kate of this circumstance, she was obliged to extend her own. Sir Mulberry detained it while he murmured a profusion102 of compliments, which Kate, remembering what had passed between them, rightly considered as so many aggravations of the insult he had already put upon her. Then followed the recognition of Lord Verisopht, and then the greeting of Mr. Pyke, and then that of Mr. Pluck, and finally, to complete the young lady’s mortification103, she was compelled at Mrs. Wititterly’s request to perform the ceremony of introducing the odious104 persons, whom she regarded with the utmost indignation and abhorrence105.
‘Mrs. Wititterly is delighted,’ said Mr. Wititterly, rubbing his hands; ‘delighted, my lord, I am sure, with this opportunity of contracting an acquaintance which, I trust, my lord, we shall improve. Julia, my dear, you must not allow yourself to be too much excited, you must not. Indeed you must not. Mrs. Wititterly is of a most excitable nature, Sir Mulberry. The snuff of a candle, the wick of a lamp, the bloom on a peach, the down on a butterfly. You might blow her away, my lord; you might blow her away.’
Sir Mulberry seemed to think that it would be a great convenience if the lady could be blown away. He said, however, that the delight was mutual106, and Lord Verisopht added that it was mutual, whereupon Messrs Pyke and Pluck were heard to murmur101 from the distance that it was very mutual indeed.
‘I take an interest, my lord,’ said Mrs. Wititterly, with a faint smile, ‘such an interest in the drama.’
‘Ye—es. It’s very interesting,’ replied Lord Verisopht.
‘I’m always ill after Shakespeare,’ said Mrs. Wititterly. ‘I scarcely exist the next day; I find the reaction so very great after a tragedy, my lord, and Shakespeare is such a delicious creature.’
‘Ye—es!’ replied Lord Verisopht. ‘He was a clayver man.’
‘Do you know, my lord,’ said Mrs. Wititterly, after a long silence, ‘I find I take so much more interest in his plays, after having been to that dear little dull house he was born in! Were you ever there, my lord?’
‘No, nayver,’ replied Verisopht.
‘Then really you ought to go, my lord,’ returned Mrs. Wititterly, in very languid and drawling accents. ‘I don’t know how it is, but after you’ve seen the place and written your name in the little book, somehow or other you seem to be inspired; it kindles107 up quite a fire within one.’
‘Ye—es!’ replied Lord Verisopht, ‘I shall certainly go there.’
‘Julia, my life,’ interposed Mr. Wititterly, ‘you are deceiving his lordship—unintentionally, my lord, she is deceiving you. It is your poetical108 temperament109, my dear—your ethereal soul—your fervid110 imagination, which throws you into a glow of genius and excitement. There is nothing in the place, my dear—nothing, nothing.’
‘I think there must be something in the place,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, who had been listening in silence; ‘for, soon after I was married, I went to Stratford with my poor dear Mr. Nickleby, in a post-chaise from Birmingham—was it a post-chaise though?’ said Mrs. Nickleby, considering; ‘yes, it must have been a post-chaise, because I recollect remarking at the time that the driver had a green shade over his left eye;—in a post-chaise from Birmingham, and after we had seen Shakespeare’s tomb and birthplace, we went back to the inn there, where we slept that night, and I recollect that all night long I dreamt of nothing but a black gentleman, at full length, in plaster-of-Paris, with a lay-down collar tied with two tassels111, leaning against a post and thinking; and when I woke in the morning and described him to Mr. Nickleby, he said it was Shakespeare just as he had been when he was alive, which was very curious indeed. Stratford—Stratford,’ continued Mrs. Nickleby, considering. ‘Yes, I am positive about that, because I recollect I was in the family way with my son Nicholas at the time, and I had been very much frightened by an Italian image boy that very morning. In fact, it was quite a mercy, ma’am,’ added Mrs. Nickleby, in a whisper to Mrs. Wititterly, ‘that my son didn’t turn out to be a Shakespeare, and what a dreadful thing that would have been!’
When Mrs. Nickleby had brought this interesting anecdote112 to a close, Pyke and Pluck, ever zealous113 in their patron’s cause, proposed the adjournment114 of a detachment of the party into the next box; and with so much skill were the preliminaries adjusted, that Kate, despite all she could say or do to the contrary, had no alternative but to suffer herself to be led away by Sir Mulberry Hawk. Her mother and Mr. Pluck accompanied them, but the worthy lady, pluming115 herself upon her discretion116, took particular care not so much as to look at her daughter during the whole evening, and to seem wholly absorbed in the jokes and conversation of Mr. Pluck, who, having been appointed sentry117 over Mrs. Nickleby for that especial purpose, neglected, on his side, no possible opportunity of engrossing118 her attention.
Lord Frederick Verisopht remained in the next box to be talked to by Mrs Wititterly, and Mr. Pyke was in attendance to throw in a word or two when necessary. As to Mr. Wititterly, he was sufficiently119 busy in the body of the house, informing such of his friends and acquaintance as happened to be there, that those two gentlemen upstairs, whom they had seen in conversation with Mrs. W., were the distinguished120 Lord Frederick Verisopht and his most intimate friend, the gay Sir Mulberry Hawk—a communication which inflamed121 several respectable house-keepers with the utmost jealousy122 and rage, and reduced sixteen unmarried daughters to the very brink123 of despair.
The evening came to an end at last, but Kate had yet to be handed downstairs by the detested124 Sir Mulberry; and so skilfully125 were the manoeuvres of Messrs Pyke and Pluck conducted, that she and the baronet were the last of the party, and were even—without an appearance of effort or design—left at some little distance behind.
‘Don’t hurry, don’t hurry,’ said Sir Mulberry, as Kate hastened on, and attempted to release her arm.
She made no reply, but still pressed forward.
‘You had best not seek to detain me, sir!’ said Kate, angrily.
‘And why not?’ retorted Sir Mulberry. ‘My dear creature, now why do you keep up this show of displeasure?’
‘Show!’ repeated Kate, indignantly. ‘How dare you presume to speak to me, sir—to address me—to come into my presence?’
‘You look prettier in a passion, Miss Nickleby,’ said Sir Mulberry Hawk, stooping down, the better to see her face.
‘I hold you in the bitterest detestation and contempt, sir,’ said Kate. ‘If you find any attraction in looks of disgust and aversion, you—let me rejoin my friends, sir, instantly. Whatever considerations may have withheld127 me thus far, I will disregard them all, and take a course that even you might feel, if you do not immediately suffer me to proceed.’
Sir Mulberry smiled, and still looking in her face and retaining her arm, walked towards the door.
‘If no regard for my sex or helpless situation will induce you to desist from this coarse and unmanly persecution,’ said Kate, scarcely knowing, in the tumult128 of her passions, what she said,—‘I have a brother who will resent it dearly, one day.’
‘Upon my soul!’ exclaimed Sir Mulberry, as though quietly communing with himself; passing his arm round her waist as he spoke129, ‘she looks more beautiful, and I like her better in this mood, than when her eyes are cast down, and she is in perfect repose130!’
How Kate reached the lobby where her friends were waiting she never knew, but she hurried across it without at all regarding them, and disengaged herself suddenly from her companion, sprang into the coach, and throwing herself into its darkest corner burst into tears.
Messrs Pyke and Pluck, knowing their cue, at once threw the party into great commotion131 by shouting for the carriages, and getting up a violent quarrel with sundry inoffensive bystanders; in the midst of which tumult they put the affrighted Mrs. Nickleby in her chariot, and having got her safely off, turned their thoughts to Mrs. Wititterly, whose attention also they had now effectually distracted from the young lady, by throwing her into a state of the utmost bewilderment and consternation132. At length, the conveyance133 in which she had come rolled off too with its load, and the four worthies134, being left alone under the portico135, enjoyed a hearty136 laugh together.
‘There,’ said Sir Mulberry, turning to his noble friend. ‘Didn’t I tell you last night that if we could find where they were going by bribing137 a servant through my fellow, and then established ourselves close by with the mother, these people’s honour would be our own? Why here it is, done in four-and-twenty hours.’
‘Ye—es,’ replied the dupe. ‘But I have been tied to the old woman all ni-ight.’
‘Hear him,’ said Sir Mulberry, turning to his two friends. ‘Hear this discontented grumbler138. Isn’t it enough to make a man swear never to help him in his plots and schemes again? Isn’t it an infernal shame?’
Pyke asked Pluck whether it was not an infernal shame, and Pluck asked Pyke; but neither answered.
‘Isn’t it the truth?’ demanded Verisopht. ‘Wasn’t it so?’
‘Wasn’t it so!’ repeated Sir Mulberry. ‘How would you have had it? How could we have got a general invitation at first sight—come when you like, go when you like, stop as long as you like, do what you like—if you, the lord, had not made yourself agreeable to the foolish mistress of the house? Do I care for this girl, except as your friend? Haven’t I been sounding your praises in her ears, and bearing her pretty sulks and peevishness139 all night for you? What sort of stuff do you think I’m made of? Would I do this for every man? Don’t I deserve even gratitude140 in return?’
‘You’re a deyvlish good fellow,’ said the poor young lord, taking his friend’s arm. ‘Upon my life you’re a deyvlish good fellow, Hawk.’
‘And I have done right, have I?’ demanded Sir Mulberry.
‘Quite ri-ght.’
‘And like a poor, silly, good-natured, friendly dog as I am, eh?’
‘Ye—es, ye—es; like a friend,’ replied the other.
‘Well then,’ replied Sir Mulberry, ‘I’m satisfied. And now let’s go and have our revenge on the German baron90 and the Frenchman, who cleaned you out so handsomely last night.’
With these words the friendly creature took his companion’s arm and led him away, turning half round as he did so, and bestowing141 a wink142 and a contemptuous smile on Messrs Pyke and Pluck, who, cramming143 their handkerchiefs into their mouths to denote their silent enjoyment144 of the whole proceedings145, followed their patron and his victim at a little distance.
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1
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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3
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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4
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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parenthesis
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| n.圆括号，插入语，插曲，间歇，停歇 | |
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6
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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7
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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9
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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10
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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11
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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12
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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13
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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14
frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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15
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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16
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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17
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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18
vestiges
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| 残余部分( vestige的名词复数 )； 遗迹； 痕迹； 毫不 | |
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19
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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20
languished
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| 长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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21
unimpeachable
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| adj.无可指责的；adv.无可怀疑地 | |
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22
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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23
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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24
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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25
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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26
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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28
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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29
feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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30
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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31
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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32
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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33
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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34
stipulation
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| n.契约，规定，条文；条款说明 | |
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35
afflicting
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| 痛苦的 | |
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36
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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37
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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38
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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39
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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40
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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41
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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42
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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43
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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44
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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45
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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46
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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47
apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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48
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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49
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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50
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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51
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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52
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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53
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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54
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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56
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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57
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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58
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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59
ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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60
raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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61
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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62
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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63
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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64
fixtures
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| （房屋等的）固定装置( fixture的名词复数 )； 如（浴盆、抽水马桶）； 固定在某位置的人或物； （定期定点举行的）体育活动 | |
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65
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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66
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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67
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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68
implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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69
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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70
aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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71
regale
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| v.取悦，款待 | |
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72
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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73
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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74
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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75
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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76
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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77
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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78
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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79
veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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80
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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81
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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82
conjecturing
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| v. & n. 推测，臆测 | |
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83
etymology
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| n.语源；字源学 | |
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84
pugnacious
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| adj.好斗的 | |
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85
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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86
hoarser
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| （指声音）粗哑的，嘶哑的( hoarse的比较级 ) | |
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87
prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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88
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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89
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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90
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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91
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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92
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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93
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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94
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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96
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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97
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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98
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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99
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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100
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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101
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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102
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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103
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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104
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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105
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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106
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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107
kindles
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的第三人称单数 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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108
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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109
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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110
fervid
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| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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111
tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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112
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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113
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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114
adjournment
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| 休会； 延期； 休会期； 休庭期 | |
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115
pluming
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| 用羽毛装饰（plume的现在分词形式） | |
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116
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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117
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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118
engrossing
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| adj.使人全神贯注的，引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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119
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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120
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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121
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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123
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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126
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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127
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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128
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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129
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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130
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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131
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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132
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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133
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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134
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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135
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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136
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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137
bribing
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| 贿赂 | |
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138
grumbler
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| 爱抱怨的人，发牢骚的人 | |
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139
peevishness
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| 脾气不好；爱发牢骚 | |
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140
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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141
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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142
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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143
cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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144
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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