now threw herself into the most striking of the whole series, to astonish the visiters. "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
