This question disposed of, Kate communicated her uncle's desire about the empty house, to which Mrs. Nickleby assented with equal readiness, characteristically remarking, that on the fine evenings it would be a pleasant amusement for her to walk to the west-end to fetch her daughter home; and no less characteristically forgetting, that there were such things as wet nights and bad weather to be encountered in almost every week of the year.
"I shall be sorry—truly sorry to leave you, my kind friend," said Kate, on whom the good feeling of the poor miniature-painter had made a deep impression.
"You shall not shake me off, for all that," replied Miss La Creevy, with as much sprightliness as she could assume. "I shall see you very often, and come and hear how you get on; and if in all London, or all the wide world besides, there is no other heart that takes an interest in your welfare, there will be one little lonely woman that prays for it night and day,"
With this the poor soul, who had a heart big enough for Gog, the guardian genius of London, and enough to spare for Magog to boot, after making a great many extraordinary faces which would have secured her an ample fortune, could she have transferred them to ivory or canvass, sat down in a corner, and had what she termed "a real good cry."
But no crying, or talking, or hoping, or fearing, could keep off the dreaded Saturday afternoon, or Newman Noggs either; who, punctual to his time, limped up to the door and breathed a whiff of cordial gin through the keyhole, exactly as such of the church clocks in the neighbourhood as agreed among themselves about the time, struck five. Newman waited for the last stroke, and then knocked.
"From Mr. Ralph Nickleby," said Newman, announcing his errand when he got up stairs with all possible brevity.
"We shall be ready directly," said Kate. "We have not much to carry, but I fear we must have a coach."
"I'll get one," replied Newman.
"Indeed you shall not trouble yourself," said Mrs. Nickleby.
"I will," said Newman.
"I can't suffer you to think of such a thing," said Mrs. Nickleby.
"You can't help it," said Newman.
"Not help it!"
"No. I thought of it as I came along; but didn't get one, thinking you mightn't be ready. I think of a great many things. Nobody can prevent that."
"Oh yes, I understand you, Mr. Noggs," said Mrs. Nickleby. "Our thoughts are free, of course. Everybody's thoughts are their own, clearly."
"They wouldn't be if some people had their way," muttered Newman.
"Well, no more they would, Mr. Noggs, and that's very true" rejoined Mrs. Nickleby. "Some people, to be sure, are such—how's your master?"
Newman darted a meaning glance at Kate, and replied with a strong emphasis on the last word of his answer, that Mr. Ralph Nickleby was well, and sent his—love.
