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 favorite topic.
"My Lord," said Mr. Wititterly, "I am delighted—honoured—proud. Be seated again, my Lord, pray. I am proud, indeed—most proud."
It was to the secret annoyance of his wife that Mr. Wititterly said all this, for, although she was bursting with pride and arrogance, she would have had the illustrious guests believe that their visit was quite a common occurrence, and that they had lords and baronets to see them every day in the week. But Mr. Wititterly's feelings were beyond the power of suppression.
"It is an honour, indeed!" said Mr. Wititterly. "Julia, my soul, you will suffer for this to-morrow."
"Suffer!" cried Lord Verisopht.
"The reaction, my Lord, the reaction," said Mr. Wititterly. "This violent strain upon the nervous system over, my Lord, what ensues? A sinking, a depression, a lowness, a lassitude, a debility. My Lord, if Sir Tumley Snuffim was to see that delicate creature at this moment, he would not give a—a—this for her life." In illustration of which remark, Mr. Wititterly took a pinch of snuff from his box and jerked it lightly into the air as an emblem of instability.
"Not that" said Mr. Wititterly, looking about him with a serious countenance. "Sir Tumley Snuffim would not give that for Mrs. Wititterly's existence."
Mr. Wititterly told this with a kind of sober exultation, as if it were no trifling distinction for a man to have a wife in such a desperate state, and Mrs. Wititterly sighed and looked on, as if she felt the honour, but had determined to bear it as meekly as might be.
"Mrs. Wititterly," said her husband, "is Sir Tumley Snuffim's favourite patient. I believe I may venture to say, that Mrs. Wititterly is the first person who took the new medicine which is supposed to have destroyed a family at Kensington Gravel Pits. I believe she was. If I am wrong, Julia, my dear, you will correct me."
"I believe I was," said Mrs. Wititterly, in a faint voice. As there appeared to be some doubt in the mind of his patron how he could best join in this conversation, the indefatigable Mr. Pyke threw himself into the breach, and, by way of saying something to the point, inquired—with reference to the aforesaid medicine—whether it was nice.
