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 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 favourite 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 tomorrow.'
`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 seriouscountenance.
`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.
`No, sir, it was not. It had not even that recommendation,' said Mr W.
`Mrs Wititterly is quite a martyr,' observed Pyke, with a complimentary bow.
`I think I am,' said Mrs Wititterly, smiling.
`I think you are, my dear Julia,' replied her husband, in a tone which seemed to say that he was not vain, but still must insist upon their privileges.
`If anybody, my lord,' added Mr Wititterly, wheeling round to the nobleman, `will produce to me a greater martyr than Mrs Wititterly, all I can say is, that I shall be glad to see that martyr, whether male or female --that's all, my lord.'
Pyke and Pluck promptly remarked that certainly nothing could be fairer than that; and the call having been by this time protracted to a very great length, they obeyed Sir Mulberry's look, and rose to go. This brought Sir Mulberry himself and Lord Verisopht on their legs also. Many protestations of friendship, and expressions anticipative of the pleasure which must inevitably flow from so happy an acquaintance, were exchanged, and the visitors departed, with renewed assurances that at all times and seasons the mansion of the Wititterlys would be honoured by receiving them beneath its roof.