"And what," said Ralph, hesitating a little, "what was the cause of quarrel?"
"You are the demdest, knowing hand," replied Mr. Mantalini, in an admiring tone, "the cunningest, rummest, superlativest old fox—oh dem—to pretend now not to know that it was the little bright-eyed niece—the softest, sweetest, prettiest——"
"Alfred!" interposed Madame Mantalini.
"She is always right," rejoined Mr. Mantalini soothingly, "and when she says it is time to go, it is time, and go she shall; and when she walks along the streets with her own tulip, the women shall say with envy, she has got a demd fine husband, and the men shall say with rapture, he has got a demd fine wife, and they shall both be right and neither wrong, upon my life and soul—oh demmit!"
With which remarks, and many more no less intellectual and to the purpose, Mr. Mantalini kissed the fingers of his gloves to Ralph Nickleby, and drawing his lady's arm through his, led her mincingly away.
"So, so," muttered Ralph, dropping into his chair; "this devil is loose again, and thwarting me, as he was born to do, at every turn. He told me once there should be a day of reckoning between us, sooner or later. I'll make him a true prophet, for it shall surely come."
"Are you at home?" asked Newman, suddenly popping in his head.
"No," replied Ralph, with equal abruptness.
Newman withdrew his head, but thrust it in again.
"You're quite sure you're not at home, are you?" said Newman.
"What does the idiot mean?" cried Ralph, testily.
"He has been waiting nearly ever since they first came in, and may have heard your voice—that's all," said Newman, rubbing his hands.
"Who has?" demanded Ralph, wrought by the intelligence he had just heard, and his clerk's provoking coolness, to an intense pitch of irritation.
The necessity of a reply was superseded by the unlooked-for entrance of a third party—the individual in question—who, bringing his one eye (for he had but one) to bear on Ralph Nickleby, made a great many shambling bows, and sat himself down in an arm-chair, with his hands on his knees, and his short black trousers drawn up so high in the legs by the exertion of seating himself, that they scarcely reached below the tops of his Wellington boots.
"Why, this is a surprise," said Ralph, bending his gaze upon the visitor, and half smiling as he scrutinized him attentively; "I should know your face, Mr. Squeers."
"Ah!" replied that worthy, "and you'd have know'd it better. Sir if it hadn't been for all that I've been a-going through. Just lift that little boy off the tall stool in the back office, and tell him to come in here, will you, my man?" said Squeers, addressing himself to Newman. "Oh, he's lifted his-self off. My son, Sir, little Wackford; What do you think of him, Sir, for a specimen of the Dotheboys Hall feeding? ain't he fit to bust out of his clothes, and start the seams, and
