“I met them at my uncle’s,” said Kate, vexed to feel that she was colouring deeply, but unable to keep down the blood which rushed to her face whenever she thought of that man.
“Have you known them long?”
“No,” rejoined Kate. “Not long.”
“I was very glad of the opportunity which that respectable person, your mother, gave us of being known to them,” said Mrs. Wititterly, in a lofty manner. “Some friends of ours were on the very point of introducing us, which makes it quite remarkable.”
This was said lest Miss Nickleby should grow conceited on the honour and dignity of having known four great people (for Pyke and Pluck were included among the delightful creatures), whom Mrs. Wititterly did not know. But as the circumstance had made no impression one way or other upon Kate’s mind, the force of the observation was quite lost upon her.
“They asked permission to call,” said Mrs. Wititterly. “I gave it them of course.”
“Do you expect them today?” Kate ventured to inquire.
Mrs. Wititterly’s answer was lost in the noise of a tremendous rapping at the street-door, and before it had ceased to vibrate, there drove up a handsome cabriolet, out of which leaped Sir Mulberry Hawk and his friend Lord Verisopht.
“They are here now,” said Kate, rising and hurrying away.
“Miss Nickleby!” cried Mrs. Wititterly, perfectly aghast at a companion’s attempting to quit the room, without her permission first had and obtained. “Pray don’t think of going.”
“You are very good!” replied Kate. “But—”
“For goodness’ sake, don’t agitate me by making me speak so much,” said Mrs. Wititterly, with great sharpness. “Dear me, Miss Nickleby, I beg—”
It was in vain for Kate to protest that she was unwell, for the footsteps of the knockers, whoever they were, were already on the stairs. She resumed her seat, and had scarcely done so, when the doubtful page darted into the room and announced, Mr. Pyke, and Mr. Pluck, and Lord Verisopht, and Sir Mulberry Hawk, all at one burst.
“The most extraordinary thing in the world,” said Mr. Pluck, saluting both ladies with the utmost cordiality; “the most extraordinary thing. As Lord Frederick and Sir Mulberry drove up to the door, Pyke and I had that instant knocked.”
“That instant knocked,” said Pyke.
“No matter how you came, so that you are here,” said Mrs. Wititterly, who, by dint of lying on the same sofa for three years and a half, had got up quite a little pantomime of graceful attitudes, and now threw herself into the most striking of the whole series, to astonish the visitors. “I am delighted, I am sure.”
“And how is Miss Nickleby?” said Sir Mulberry Hawk, accosting Kate, in a low voice—not so low, however, but that it reached the ears of Mrs. Wititterly.
“Why, she complains of suffering from the fright of last night,” said the lady. “I am sure I don’t wonder at it, for my nerves are quite torn to pieces.”
“And yet you look,” observed Sir Mulberry, turning round; “and yet you look—”
“Beyond everything,” said Mr. Pyke, coming to his patron’s assistance. Of course Mr. Pluck said the same.
“I am afraid Sir Mulberry is a flatterer, my lord,” said Mrs. Wititterly, turning to that young gentleman, who had been sucking the head of his cane in silence, and staring at Kate.
“Oh, deyvlish!” replied Verisopht. Having given utterance to which remarkable sentiment, he occupied himself as before.
“Neither does Miss Nickleby look the worse,” said Sir Mulberry, bending his bold gaze upon her. “She was always handsome, but upon my soul, ma’am, you seem to have imparted some of your own good looks to her besides.”
To judge from the glow which suffused the poor girl’s countenance after this speech, Mrs. Wititterly might, with some show of reason, have been supposed to have imparted to it some of that artificial bloom which decorated her own. Mrs. Wititterly admitted, though not with the best grace in the world, that Kate did look pretty. She began to think, too, that Sir Mulberry was not quite so agreeable a creature as she had at first supposed him; for, although a skilful flatterer is a most delightful companion if you can keep him all to yourself, his taste becomes very doubtful when he takes to complimenting other people.
“Pyke,” said the watchful Mr. Pluck, observing the effect which the praise of Miss Nickleby had produced.
“Well, Pluck,” said Pyke.
“Is there anybody,” demanded Mr. Pluck, mysteriously, “anybody you know, that Mrs. Wititterly’s profile reminds you of?”
“Reminds me of!” answered Pyke. “Of course there is.”
“Who do you mean?” said Pluck, in the same mysterious manner. “The D. of B.?”
“The C. of B.,” replied Pyke, with the faintest trace of a grin lingering in his countenance. “The beautiful sister is the countess; not the duchess.”
“True,” said Pluck, “the C. of B. The resemblance is wonderful!”
“Perfectly startling,” said Mr. Pyke.
Here was a state of things! Mrs. Wititterly was declared, upon the testimony of two veracious and competent witnesses, to be the very picture of a countess! This was one of the consequences of getting into good society. Why, she might have moved among grovelling people for twenty years, and never heard of it. How could she, indeed? what did they know about countesses?
The two gentlemen having, by the greediness with which this little bait was swallowed, tested the extent of Mrs. Wititterly’s appetite for adulation, proceeded to administer that commodity in very large doses, thus affording to Sir Mulberry Hawk an opportunity of pestering Miss Nickleby with questions and remarks, to which she was absolutely obliged to make some reply. Meanwhile, Lord Verisopht enjoyed unmolested the full flavour of the gold knob at the top of his cane, as he would have done to the end of the interview if Mr. Wititterly had not come home, and caused the conversation to turn to his favourite topic.
“My lord,” said Mr. Wititterly, “I am delighted—honoured—proud. Be seated again, my
