Miss Knag, after doting on Kate Nickleby for three whole Days, makes
up her Mind to hate her for evermore. The Causes which led Miss Knag to
form this Resolution
There are many lives of much pain, hardship, and suffering, which,
having no stirring interest for any but those who lead them, are
disregarded by persons who do not want thought or feeling, but who
pamper their compassion and need high stimulants to rouse it.
There are not a few among the disciples of charity who require, in their
vocation, scarcely less excitement than the votaries of pleasure in
theirs; and hence it is that diseased sympathy and compassion are every
day expended on out-of-the-way objects, when only too many demands upon
the legitimate exercise of the same virtues in a healthy state, are
constantly within the sight and hearing of the most unobservant person
alive. In short, charity must have its romance, as the novelist or
playwright must have his. A thief in fustian is a vulgar character,
scarcely to be thought of by persons of refinement; but dress him in
green velvet, with a high-crowned hat, and change the scene of his
operations, from a thickly-peopled city, to a mountain road, and you
shall find in him the very soul of poetry and adventure. So it is with
the one great cardinal virtue, which, properly nourished and exercised,
leads to, if it does not necessarily include, all the others. It must
have its romance; and the less of real, hard, struggling work-a-day life
there is in that romance, the better.
The life to which poor Kate Nickleby was devoted, in consequence of the
unforeseen train of circumstances already developed in this narrative,
was a hard one; but lest the very dulness, unhealthy confinement, and
bodily fatigue, which made up its sum and substance, should deprive it
of any interest with the mass of the charitable and sympathetic, I would
rather keep Miss Nickleby herself in view just now, than chill them in
the outset, by a minute and lengthened description of the establishment
presided over by Madame Mantalini.
‘Well, now, indeed, Madame Mantalini,’ said Miss Knag, as Kate was
taking her weary way homewards on the first night of her novitiate;
‘that Miss Nickleby is a very creditable young person--a very creditable
young person indeed--hem--upon my word, Madame Mantalini, it does very
extraordinary credit even to your discrimination that you should
have found such a very excellent, very well-behaved, very--hem--very
unassuming young woman to assist in the fitting on. I have seen some
young women when they had the opportunity of displaying before their
betters, behave in such a--oh, dear--well--but you’re always right,
Madame Mantalini, always; and as I very often tell the young ladies,
how you do contrive to be always right, when so many people are so often
wrong, is to me a mystery indeed.’
‘Beyond putting a very excellent client out of humour, Miss Nickleby has
not done anything very remarkable today--that I am aware of, at least,’
said Madame Mantalini in reply.
‘Oh, dear!’ said Miss Knag; ‘but you must allow a great deal for
inexperience, you know.’
‘And youth?’ inquired Madame.
‘Oh, I say nothing about that, Madame Mantalini,’ replied Miss Knag,
reddening; ‘because if youth were any excuse, you wouldn’t have--’
‘Quite so good a forewoman as I have, I suppose,’ suggested Madame.
‘Well, I never did know anybody like you, Madame Mantalini,’ rejoined
Miss Knag most complacently, ‘and that’s the fact, for you know what
one’s going to say, before it has time to rise to one’s lips. Oh, very
good! Ha, ha, ha!’
‘For myself,’ observed Madame Mantalini, glancing with affected
carelessness at her assistant, and laughing heartily in her sleeve, ‘I
consider Miss Nickleby the most awkward girl I ever saw in my life.’
‘Poor dear thing,’ said Miss Knag, ‘it’s not her fault. If it was, we
might hope to cure it; but as it’s her misfortune, Madame Mantalini,
why really you know, as the man said about the blind horse, we ought to
respect it.’
‘Her uncle told me she had been considered pretty,’ remarked Madame
Mantalini. ‘I think her one of the most ordinary girls I ever met with.’
‘Ordinary!’ cried Miss Knag with a countenance beaming delight; ‘and
awkward! Well, all I can say is, Madame Mantalini, that I quite love the
poor girl; and that if she was twice as indifferent-looking, and twice
as awkward as she is, I should be only so much the more her friend, and
that’s the truth of it.’
In fact, Miss Knag had conceived an incipient affection for Kate
Nickleby, after witnessing her failure that morning, and this short
conversation with her superior increased the favourable prepossession
to a most surprising extent; which was the more remarkable, as when she
first scanned that young lady’s face and figure, she had entertained
certain inward misgivings that they would never agree.
‘But now,’ said Miss Knag, glancing at the reflection of herself in a
mirror at no great distance, ‘I love her--I quite love her--I declare I
do!’
Of such a highly disinterested quality was this devoted friendship, and
so superior was it to the little weaknesses of flattery or ill-nature,
that the kind-hearted Miss Knag candidly informed Kate Nickleby, next
day, that she saw she would never do for the business, but that she need
not give herself the slightest uneasiness on this account, for that she
(Miss Knag), by increased exertions on her own part, would keep her as
much as possible in the background, and that all she would have to do,
would be to remain perfectly quiet before company, and to shrink from
attracting notice by every means in her power. This last suggestion was
so much in accordance with the timid girl’s own feelings and wishes,
that she readily promised implicit reliance on the excellent spinster’s
advice: without questioning, or indeed bestowing a moment’s reflection
upon, the motives that dictated it.
‘I take quite a lively interest in you, my dear soul, upon my word,’
said Miss Knag; ‘a sister’s interest, actually. It’s the most singular
circumstance I ever knew.’
Undoubtedly it was singular, that if Miss Knag did feel a strong
interest in Kate Nickleby, it should not rather have been the interest
of a maiden aunt or grandmother; that being the conclusion to which the
difference in their respective ages would have naturally tended. But
Miss Knag wore clothes of a very youthful pattern, and perhaps her
feelings took the same shape.
‘Bless you!’ said Miss Knag, bestowing a kiss upon Kate at the
conclusion of the second day’s work, ‘how very awkward you have been all
day.’
‘I fear your kind and open communication, which has rendered me more
painfully conscious of my own defects, has not improved me,’ sighed
Kate.
‘No, no, I dare say not,’ rejoined Miss Knag, in a most uncommon flow of
good humour. ‘But how much better that you should know it at first,
and so be able to go on, straight and comfortable! Which way are you
walking, my love?’
‘Towards the city,’ replied Kate.
‘The city!’ cried Miss Knag, regarding herself with great favour in the
glass as she tied her bonnet. ‘Goodness gracious me! now do you really
live in the city?’
‘Is it so very unusual for anybody to live there?’ asked Kate, half
smiling.
‘I couldn’t have believed it possible that any young woman could have
lived there, under any circumstances whatever, for three days together,’
replied Miss Knag.
‘Reduced--I should say poor people,’ answered Kate, correcting herself
hastily, for she was afraid of appearing proud, ‘must live where they
can.’
‘Ah! very true, so they must; very proper indeed!’ rejoined Miss Knag
with that sort of half-sigh, which, accompanied by two or three slight
nods of the head, is pity’s small change in general society; ‘and that’s
what I very often tell my brother, when our servants go away ill, one
after another, and he thinks the back-kitchen’s rather too damp for
‘em to sleep in. These sort of people, I tell him, are glad to sleep
anywhere! Heaven suits the back to the burden. What a nice thing it is
to think that it should be so, isn’t it?’
‘Very,’ replied Kate.
‘I’ll walk with you part of the way, my dear,’ said Miss Knag, ‘for
you must go very near our house; and as it’s quite dark, and our last
servant went to the hospital a week ago, with St Anthony’s fire in her
face, I shall be glad of your company.’
Kate would willingly have excused herself from this flattering
companionship; but Miss Knag having adjusted her bonnet to her entire
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 blessing to me, in my misfortunes, to have a
child, who knows neither pride nor 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 intending 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 he 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 to drink a
bottle and a half of every time he came. You must remember, Kate?’
‘Yes, yes, mama; what of him?’
‘Why, that Mr. Watkins, my dear,’ said Mrs. Nickleby slowly, as if she
were making a tremendous effort to recollect something of paramount
importance; ‘that Mr. Watkins--he wasn’t any relation, Miss Knag will
understand, to the Watkins who kept the Old Boar in the village;
by-the-bye, I don’t remember whether it was the Old Boar or the
George the Third, but it was one of the two, I know, and it’s much the
same--that Mr. Watkins said, when you were only two years and a half old,
that you were one of the most astonishing children he ever saw. He did
indeed, Miss Knag, and he wasn’t at all fond of children, and couldn’t
have had the slightest motive for doing it. I know it was he who said
so, because I recollect, as well as if it was only yesterday,
his borrowing twenty pounds of her poor dear papa the very moment
afterwards.’
Having quoted this extraordinary and most disinterested testimony to her
daughter’s excellence, Mrs. Nickleby stopped to breathe; and Miss Knag,
finding that the discourse was turning upon family greatness, lost no
time in striking in, with a small reminiscence on her own account.
‘Don’t talk of lending money, Mrs. Nickleby,’ said Miss Knag, ‘or you’ll
drive me crazy, perfectly crazy. My mama--hem--was the most lovely and
beautiful creature, with the most striking and exquisite--hem--the most
exquisite nose that ever was put upon a human face, I do believe, Mrs
Nickleby (here Miss Knag rubbed her own nose sympathetically); the most
delightful and accomplished woman, perhaps, that ever was seen; but she
had that one failing of lending money, and carried it to such an extent
that she lent--hem--oh! thousands of pounds, all our little fortunes,
and what’s more, Mrs. Nickleby, I don’t think, if we were to live
till--till--hem--till the very end of time, that we should ever get them
back again. I don’t indeed.’
After concluding this effort of invention without being interrupted,
Miss Knag fell into many more recollections, no less interesting than
true, the full tide of which, Mrs. Nickleby in vain attempting to stem,
at length sailed smoothly down by adding an under-current of her own
recollections; and so both ladies went on talking together in perfect
contentment; the only difference between them being, that whereas Miss
Knag addressed herself to Kate, and talked very loud, Mrs. Nickleby kept
on in one unbroken monotonous flow, perfectly satisfied to be talking
and caring very little whether anybody listened or not.
In this manner they walked on, very amicably, until they arrived at Miss
Knag’s brother’s, who was an ornamental stationer and small circulating
library keeper, in a by-street off Tottenham Court Road; and who let
out by the day, week, month, or year, the newest old novels, whereof
the titles were displayed in pen-and-ink characters on a sheet of
pasteboard, swinging at his door-post. As Miss Knag happened, at the
moment, to be in the middle of an account of her twenty-second offer
from a gentleman of large property, she insisted upon their all going in
to supper together; and in they went.
‘Don’t go away, Mortimer,’ said Miss Knag as they entered the shop.
‘It’s only one of our young ladies and her mother. Mrs. and Miss
Nickleby.’
‘Oh, indeed!’ said Mr. Mortimer Knag. ‘Ah!’
Having given utterance to these ejaculations with a very profound
and thoughtful air, Mr. Knag slowly snuffed two kitchen candles on the
counter, and two more in the window, and then snuffed himself from a box
in his waistcoat pocket.
There was something very impressive in the ghostly air with which
all this was done; and as Mr. Knag was a tall lank gentleman of solemn
features, wearing spectacles, and garnished with much less hair than
a gentleman bordering on forty, or thereabouts, usually boasts, Mrs
Nickleby whispered her daughter that she thought he must be literary.
‘Past ten,’ said Mr. Knag, consulting his watch. ‘Thomas, close the
warehouse.’
Thomas was a boy nearly half as tall as a shutter, and the warehouse was
a shop about the size of three hackney coaches.
‘Ah!’ said Mr. Knag once more, heaving a deep sigh as he restored to its
parent shelf the book he had been reading. ‘Well--yes--I believe supper
is ready, sister.’
With another sigh Mr. Knag took up the kitchen candles from the counter,
and preceded the ladies with mournful steps to a back-parlour, where a
charwoman, employed in the absence of the sick servant, and remunerated
with certain eighteenpences to be deducted from her wages due, was
putting the supper out.
‘Mrs. Blockson,’ said Miss Knag, reproachfully, ‘how very often I have
begged you not to come into the room with your bonnet on!’
‘I can’t help it, Miss Knag,’ said the charwoman, bridling up on the
shortest notice. ‘There’s been a deal o’cleaning to do in this house,
and if you don’t like it, I must trouble you to look out for somebody
else, for it don’t hardly pay me, and that’s the truth, if I was to be
hung this minute.’
‘I don’t want any remarks if YOU please,’ said Miss Knag, with a strong
emphasis on the personal pronoun. ‘Is there any fire downstairs for some
hot water presently?’
‘No there is not, indeed, Miss Knag,’ replied the substitute; ‘and so I
won’t tell you no stories about it.’
‘Then why isn’t there?’ said Miss Knag.
‘Because there arn’t no coals left out, and if I could make coals I
would, but as I can’t I won’t, and so I make bold to tell you, Mem,’
replied Mrs. Blockson.
‘Will you hold your tongue--female?’ said Mr. Mortimer Knag, plunging
violently into this dialogue.
‘By your leave, Mr. Knag,’ retorted the charwoman, turning sharp round.
‘I’m only too glad not to speak in this house, excepting when and where
I’m spoke to, sir; and with regard to being a female, sir, I should wish
to know what you considered yourself?’
‘A miserable wretch,’ exclaimed Mr. Knag, striking his forehead. ‘A
miserable wretch.’
‘I’m very glad to find that you don’t call yourself out of your name,
sir,’ said Mrs. Blockson; ‘and as I had two twin children the day before
yesterday was only seven weeks, and my little Charley fell down a airy
and put his elber out, last Monday, I shall take it as a favour if
you’ll send nine shillings, for one week’s work, to my house, afore the
clock strikes ten tomorrow.’
With these parting words, the good woman quitted the room with great
ease of manner, leaving the door wide open; Mr. Knag, at the same moment,
flung himself into the ‘warehouse,’ and groaned aloud.
‘What is the matter with that gentleman, pray?’ inquired Mrs. Nickleby,
greatly disturbed by the sound.
‘Is he ill?’ inquired Kate, really alarmed.
‘Hush!’ replied Miss Knag; ‘a most melancholy history. He was once most
devotedly attached to--hem--to Madame Mantalini.’
‘Bless me!’ exclaimed Mrs. Nickleby.
‘Yes,’ continued Miss Knag, ‘and received great encouragement too,
and confidently hoped to marry her. He has a most romantic heart,
Mrs. Nickleby, as indeed--hem--as indeed all our family have, and the
disappointment was a dreadful blow. He is a wonderfully accomplished
man--most extraordinarily accomplished--reads--hem--reads every novel
that comes out; I mean every novel that--hem--that has any fashion in
it, of course. The fact is, that he did find so much in the books he
read, applicable to his own misfortunes, and did find himself in every
respect so much like the heroes--because of course he is conscious of
his own superiority, as we all are, and very naturally--that he took to
scorning everything, and became a genius; and I am quite sure that he
is, at this very present moment, writing another book.’
‘Another book!’ repeated Kate, finding that a pause was left for
somebody to say something.
‘Yes,’ said Miss Knag, nodding in great triumph; ‘another book, in three
volumes post octavo. Of course it’s a great advantage to him, in all his
little fashionable descriptions, to have the benefit of my--hem--of my
experience, because, of course, few authors who write about such things
can have such opportunities of knowing them as I have. He’s so wrapped
up in high life, that the least allusion to business or worldly
matters--like that woman just now, for instance--quite distracts him;
but, as I often say, I think his disappointment a great thing for him,
because if he hadn’t been disappointed he couldn’t have written about
blighted hopes and all that; and the fact is, if it hadn’t happened as
it has, I don’t believe his genius would ever have come out at all.’
How much more communicative Miss Knag might have become under more
favourable circumstances, it is impossible to divine, but as the gloomy
one was within ear-shot, and the fire wanted making up, her disclosures
stopped here. To judge from all appearances, and the difficulty of
making the water warm, the last servant could not have been much
accustomed to any other fire than St Anthony’s; but a little brandy and
water was made at last, and the guests, having been previously regaled
with cold leg of mutton and bread and cheese, soon afterwards took
leave; Kate amusing herself, all the way home, with the recollection of
her last glimpse of Mr. Mortimer Knag deeply abstracted in the shop; and
Mrs. Nickleby by debating within herself whether the dressmaking firm
would ultimately become ‘Mantalini, Knag, and Nickleby’, or ‘Mantalini,
Nickleby, and Knag’.
At this high point, Miss Knag’s friendship remained for three whole
days, much to the wonderment of Madame Mantalini’s young ladies who had
never beheld such constancy in that quarter, before; but on the fourth,
it received a check no less violent than sudden, which thus occurred.
It happened that an old lord of great family, who was going to marry a
young lady of no family in particular, came with the young lady, and the
young lady’s sister, to witness the ceremony of trying on two nuptial
bonnets which had been ordered the day before, and Madame Mantalini
announcing the fact, in a shrill treble, through the speaking-pipe,
which communicated with the workroom, Miss Knag darted hastily upstairs
with a bonnet in each hand, and presented herself in the show-room, in a
charming state of palpitation, intended to demonstrate her enthusiasm
in the cause. The bonnets were no sooner fairly on, than Miss Knag and
Madame Mantalini fell into convulsions of admiration.
‘A most elegant appearance,’ said Madame Mantalini.
‘I never saw anything so exquisite in all my life,’ said Miss Knag.
Now, the old lord, who was a VERY old lord, said nothing, but mumbled
and chuckled in a state of great delight, no less with the nuptial
bonnets and their wearers, than with his own address in getting such a
fine woman for his wife; and the young lady, who was a very lively young
lady, seeing the old lord in this rapturous condition, chased the old
lord behind a cheval-glass, and then and there kissed him, while Madame
Mantalini and the other young lady looked, discreetly, another way.
But, pending the salutation, Miss Knag, who was tinged with curiosity,
stepped accidentally behind the glass, and encountered the lively young
lady’s eye just at the very moment when she kissed the old lord; upon
which the young lady, in a pouting manner, murmured something about ‘an
old thing,’ and ‘great impertinence,’ and finished by darting a look of
displeasure at Miss Knag, and smiling contemptuously.
‘Madame Mantalini,’ said the young lady.
‘Ma’am,’ said Madame Mantalini.
‘Pray have up that pretty young creature we saw yesterday.’
‘Oh yes, do,’ said the sister.
‘Of all things in the world, Madame Mantalini,’ said the lord’s
intended, throwing herself languidly on a sofa, ‘I hate being waited
upon by frights or elderly persons. Let me always see that young
creature, I beg, whenever I come.’
‘By all means,’ said the old lord; ‘the lovely young creature, by all
means.’
‘Everybody is talking about her,’ said the young lady, in the same
careless manner; ‘and my lord, being a great admirer of beauty, must
positively see her.’
‘She IS universally admired,’ replied Madame Mantalini. ‘Miss Knag, send
up Miss Nickleby. You needn’t return.’
‘I beg your pardon, Madame Mantalini, what did you say last?’ asked Miss
Knag, trembling.
‘You needn’t return,’ repeated the superior, sharply. Miss Knag vanished
without another word, and in all reasonable time was replaced by Kate,
who took off the new bonnets and put on the old ones: blushing very much
to find that the old lord and the two young ladies were staring her out
of countenance all the time.
‘Why, how you colour, child!’ said the lord’s chosen bride.
‘She is not quite so accustomed to her business, as she will be in a
week or two,’ interposed Madame Mantalini with a gracious smile.
‘I am afraid you have been giving her some of your wicked looks, my
lord,’ said the intended.
‘No, no, no,’ replied the old lord, ‘no, no, I’m going to be married,
and lead a new life. Ha, ha, ha! a new life, a new life! ha, ha, ha!’
It was a satisfactory thing to hear that the old gentleman was going to
lead a new life, for it was pretty evident that his old one would not
last him much longer. The mere exertion of protracted chuckling reduced
him to a fearful ebb of coughing and gasping; it was some minutes
before he could find breath to remark that the girl was too pretty for a
milliner.
‘I hope you don’t think good looks a disqualification for the business,
my lord,’ said Madame Mantalini, simpering.
‘Not by any means,’ replied the old lord, ‘or you would have left it
long ago.’
‘You naughty creature,’ said the lively lady, poking the peer with her
parasol; ‘I won’t have you talk so. How dare you?’
This playful inquiry was accompanied with another poke, and another,
and then the old lord caught the parasol, and wouldn’t give it up again,
which induced the other lady to come to the rescue, and some very pretty
sportiveness ensued.
‘You will see that those little alterations are made, Madame Mantalini,’
said the lady. ‘Nay, you bad man, you positively shall go first; I
wouldn’t leave you behind with that pretty girl, not for half a second.
I know you too well. Jane, my dear, let him go first, and we shall be
quite sure of him.’
The old lord, evidently much flattered by this suspicion, bestowed a
grotesque leer upon Kate as he passed; and, receiving another tap with
the parasol for his wickedness, tottered downstairs to the door, where
his sprightly body was hoisted into the carriage by two stout footmen.
‘Foh!’ said Madame Mantalini, ‘how he ever gets into a carriage without
thinking of a hearse, I can’t think. There, take the things away, my
dear, take them away.’
Kate, who had remained during the whole scene with her eyes modestly
fixed upon the ground, was only too happy to avail herself of the
permission to retire, and hasten joyfully downstairs to Miss Knag’s
dominion.
The circumstances of the little kingdom had greatly changed, however,
during the short period of her absence. In place of Miss Knag being
stationed in her accustomed seat, preserving all the dignity and
greatness of Madame Mantalini’s representative, that worthy soul was
reposing on a large box, bathed in tears, while three or four of the
young ladies in close attendance upon her, together with the presence
of hartshorn, vinegar, and other restoratives, would have borne ample
testimony, even without the derangement of the head-dress and front row
of curls, to her having fainted desperately.
‘Bless me!’ said Kate, stepping hastily forward, ‘what is the matter?’
This inquiry produced in Miss Knag violent symptoms of a relapse; and
several young ladies, darting angry looks at Kate, applied more vinegar
and hartshorn, and said it was ‘a shame.’
‘What is a shame?’ demanded Kate. ‘What is the matter? What has
happened? tell me.’
‘Matter!’ cried Miss Knag, coming, all at once, bolt upright, to the
great consternation of the assembled maidens; ‘matter! Fie upon you, you
nasty creature!’
‘Gracious!’ cried Kate, almost paralysed by the violence with which the
adjective had been jerked out from between Miss Knag’s closed teeth;
‘have I offended you?’
‘YOU offended me!’ retorted Miss Knag, ‘YOU! a chit, a child, an upstart
nobody! Oh, indeed! Ha, ha!’
Now, it was evident, as Miss Knag laughed, that something struck her as
being exceedingly funny; and as the young ladies took their tone from
Miss Knag--she being the chief--they all got up a laugh without
a moment’s delay, and nodded their heads a little, and smiled
sarcastically to each other, as much as to say how very good that was!
‘Here she is,’ continued Miss Knag, getting off the box, and introducing
Kate with much ceremony and many low curtseys to the delighted throng;
‘here she is--everybody is talking about her--the belle, ladies--the
beauty, the--oh, you bold-faced thing!’
At this crisis, Miss Knag was unable to repress a virtuous shudder,
which immediately communicated itself to all the young ladies; after
which, Miss Knag laughed, and after that, cried.
‘For fifteen years,’ exclaimed Miss Knag, sobbing in a most affecting
manner, ‘for fifteen years have I been the credit and ornament of this
room and the one upstairs. Thank God,’ said Miss Knag, stamping first
her right foot and then her left with remarkable energy, ‘I have never
in all that time, till now, been exposed to the arts, the vile arts, of
a creature, who disgraces us with all her proceedings, and makes proper
people blush for themselves. But I feel it, I do feel it, although I am
disgusted.’
Miss Knag here relapsed into softness, and the young ladies renewing
their attentions, murmured that she ought to be superior to such things,
and that for their part they despised them, and considered them beneath
their notice; in witness whereof, they called out, more emphatically
than before, that it was a shame, and that they felt so angry, they did,
they hardly knew what to do with themselves.
‘Have I lived to this day to be called a fright!’ cried Miss Knag,
suddenly becoming convulsive, and making an effort to tear her front
off.
‘Oh no, no,’ replied the chorus, ‘pray don’t say so; don’t now!’
‘Have I deserved to be called an elderly person?’ screamed Miss Knag,
wrestling with the supernumeraries.
‘Don’t think of such things, dear,’ answered the chorus.
‘I hate her,’ cried Miss Knag; ‘I detest and hate her. Never let her
speak to me again; never let anybody who is a friend of mine speak to
her; a slut, a hussy, an impudent artful hussy!’ Having denounced the
object of her wrath, in these terms, Miss Knag screamed once, hiccuped
thrice, gurgled in her throat several times, slumbered, shivered, woke,
came to, composed her head-dress, and declared herself quite well again.
Poor Kate had regarded these proceedings, at first, in perfect
bewilderment. She had then turned red and pale by turns, and once
or twice essayed to speak; but, as the true motives of this altered
behaviour developed themselves, she retired a few paces, and looked
calmly on without deigning a reply. Nevertheless, although she walked
proudly to her seat, and turned her back upon the group of little
satellites who clustered round their ruling planet in the remotest
corner of the room, she gave way, in secret, to some such bitter tears
as would have gladdened Miss Knag’s inmost soul, if she could have seen
them fall.