The new party
beginning to converse together, Sir Mulberry suddenly assumed the
character of a most attentive listener, and implored his friends not to
breathe--not to breathe.
'Why not?' said Mrs Nickleby. 'What is the matter?'
'Hush!' replied Sir Mulberry, laying his hand on her arm. 'Lord
Frederick, do you recognise the tones of that voice?'
'Deyvle take me if I didn't think it was the voice of Miss Nickleby.'
'Lor, my lord!' cried Miss Nickleby's mama, thrusting her head round the
curtain. 'Why actually--Kate, my dear, Kate.'
'YOU here, mama! Is it possible!'
'Possible, my dear? Yes.'
'Why who--who on earth is that you have with you, mama?' said Kate,
shrinking back as she caught sight of a man smiling and kissing his
hand.
'Who do you suppose, my dear?' replied Mrs Nickleby, bending towards Mrs
Wititterly, and speaking a little louder for that lady's edification.
'There's Mr Pyke, Mr Pluck, Sir Mulberry Hawk, and Lord Frederick
Verisopht.'
'Gracious Heaven!' thought Kate hurriedly. 'How comes she in such
society?'
Now, Kate thought thus SO hurriedly, and the surprise was so great, and
moreover brought back so forcibly the recollection of what had passed at
Ralph's delectable dinner, that she turned extremely pale and appeared
greatly agitated, which symptoms being observed by Mrs Nickleby, were
at once set down by that acute lady as being caused and occasioned by
violent love.
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