satisfaction, took her arm with an air which plainly showed how much she felt the compliment she was conferring, and they were in the street before she could say another word.
"I fear," said Kate, hesitating, "that mama—my mother, I mean—is waiting for me."
"You needn't make the least apology, my dear," said Miss Knag, smiling sweetly as she spoke; "I dare say she is a very respectable old person, and I shall be quite—hem—quite pleased to know her."
As poor Mrs. Nickleby was cooling—not her heels alone, but her limbs generally at the street corner, Kate had no alternative but to make her known to Miss Knag, who, doing the last new carriage customer at second-hand, acknowledged the introduction with condescending politeness. The three then walked away arm in arm, with Miss Knag in the middle, in a special state of amiability.
"I have taken such a fancy to your daughter, Mrs. Nickleby, you can't think," said Miss Knag, after she had proceeded a little distance in dignified silence.
"I am delighted to hear it," said Mrs. Nickleby; "though it is nothing new to me, that even strangers should like Kate."
"Hem!" cried Miss Knag.
"You will like her better when you know how good she is," said Mrs. Nickleby. "It is a great at blessing to me in my misfortunes to have a child, who knows neither pride or vanity, and whose bringing-up might very well have excused a little of both at first. You don't know what it is to lose a husband, Miss Knag."
As Miss Knag had never yet known what it was to gain one, it followed very nearly as a matter of course that she didn't know what it was to lose one, so she said in some haste, "No, indeed I don't," and said it with an air intended to signify that she should like to catch herself marrying anybody—no no, she knew better than that.
"Kate has improved even in this little time, I have no doubt," said Mrs. Nickleby, glancing proudly at her daughter.
"Oh! of course," said Miss Knag.
"And will improve still more," added Mrs. Nickleby.
"That she will, I'll be bound," replied Miss Knag, squeezing Kate's arm in her own, to point the joke.
"She always was clever," said poor Mrs. Nickleby, brightening up, "always, from a baby. I recollect when she was only two years and a half old, that a gentleman who used to visit very much at our house—Mr. Watkins, you know, Kate, my dear, that your poor papa went bail for, who afterwards ran away to the United States, and sent us a pair of snow shoes, with such an affectionate letter that it made your poor dear father cry for a week. You remember the letter, in which he said that he was very sorry ho couldn't repay the fifty pounds just then, because his capital was all out at interest, and he was very busy making his fortune, but that he didn't forget you were his god-daughter, and he should take it very unkind if we didn't buy you a silver coral and put it down to his old account—dear me, yes, my dear, how stupid you are! and spoke so affectionately of the old port wine that he used
