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When Mr Squeers left the schoolroom for the night, he betook himself, ashas been before remarked, to his own fireside, which was situated--notin the room in which Nicholas had supped on the night of his arrival,but in a smaller apartment in the rear of the premises, where his ladywife, his amiable son, and accomplished daughter, were in the fullenjoyment of each other's society; Mrs Squeers being engaged in thematronly pursuit of stocking-darning; and the young lady and gentlemanbeing occupied in the adjustment of some youthful differences, by meansof a pugilistic contest across the table, which, on the approach oftheir honoured parent, subsided into a noiseless exchange of kicksbeneath it.

And, in this place, it may be as well to apprise the reader, that MissFanny Squeers was in her three-and-twentieth year. If there be any onegrace or loveliness inseparable from that particular period of life,Miss Squeers may be presumed to have been possessed of it, as there isno reason to suppose that she was a solitary exception to an universalrule. She was not tall like her mother, but short like her father; fromthe former she inherited a voice of harsh quality; from the latter aremarkable expression of the right eye, something akin to having none atall.

Miss Squeers had been spending a few days with a neighbouring friend,and had only just returned to the parental roof. To this circumstancemay be referred, her having heard nothing of Nicholas, until Mr Squeershimself now made him the subject of conversation.

'Well, my dear,' said Squeers, drawing up his chair, 'what do you thinkof him by this time?'

'Think of who?' inquired Mrs Squeers; who (as she often remarked) was nogrammarian, thank Heaven.

'Of the young man--the new teacher--who else could I mean?'

'Oh! that Knuckleboy,' said Mrs Squeers impatiently. 'I hate him.'

'What do you hate him for, my dear?' asked Squeers.

'What's that to you?' retorted Mrs Squeers. 'If I hate him, that'senough, ain't it?'

'Quite enough for him, my dear, and a great deal too much I dare say,if he knew it,' replied Squeers in a pacific tone. 'I only ask fromcuriosity, my dear.'

'Well, then, if you want to know,' rejoined Mrs Squeers, 'I'll tell you.Because he's a proud, haughty, consequential, turned-up-nosed peacock.'

Mrs Squeers, when excited, was accustomed to use strong language, and,moreover, to make use of a plurality of epithets, some of which were ofa figurative kind, as the word peacock, and furthermore the allusionto Nicholas's nose, which was not intended to be taken in its literalsense, but rather to bear a latitude of construction according to thefancy of the hearers.

Neither were they meant to bear reference to each other, so much as tothe object on whom they were bestowed, as will be seen in the presentcase: a peacock with a turned-up nose being a novelty in ornithology,and a thing not commonly seen.

'Hem!' said Squeers, as if in mild deprecation of this outbreak. 'He ischeap, my dear; the young man is very cheap.'

'Not a bit of it,' retorted Mrs Squeers.

'Five pound a year,' said Squeers.

'What of that; it's dear if you don't want him, isn't it?' replied hiswife.

'But we DO want him,' urged Squeers.

'I don't see that you want him any more than the dead,' saidMrs Squeers. 'Don't tell me. You can put on the cards and in theadvertisements, "Education by Mr Wackford Squeers and able assistants,"without having any assistants, can't you? Isn't it done every day by allthe masters about? I've no patience with you.'

'Haven't you!' said Squeers, sternly. 'Now I'll tell you what, MrsSqueers. In this matter of having a teacher, I'll take my own way, ifyou please. A slave driver in the West Indies is allowed a man underhim, to see that his blacks don't run away, or get up a rebellion; andI'll have a man under me to do the same with OUR blacks, till such timeas little Wackford is able to take charge of the school.'

'Am I to take care of the school when I grow up a man, father?' saidWackford junior, suspending, in the excess of his delight, a viciouskick which he was administering to his sister.

'You are, my son,' replied Mr Squeers, in a sentimental voice.

'Oh my eye, won't I give it to the boys!' exclaimed the interestingchild, grasping his father's cane. 'Oh, father, won't I make 'em squeakagain!'

It was a proud moment in Mr Squeers's life, when he witnessed that burstof enthusiasm in his young child's mind, and saw in it a foreshadowingof his future eminence. He pressed a penny into his hand, and gavevent to his feelings (as did his exemplary wife also), in a shout ofapproving laughter. The infantine appeal to their common sympathies,at once restored cheerfulness to the conversation, and harmony to thecompany.

'He's a nasty stuck-up monkey, that's what I consider him,' said MrsSqueers, reverting to Nicholas.

'Supposing he is,' said Squeers, 'he is as well stuck up in ourschoolroom as anywhere else, isn't he?--especially as he don't like it.'

'Well,' observed Mrs Squeers, 'there's something in that. I hope it'llbring his pride down, and it shall be no fault of mine if it don't.'

Now, a proud usher in a Yorkshire school was such a very extraordinaryand unaccountable thing to hear of,--any usher at all being a novelty;but a proud one, a being of whose existence the wildest imaginationcould never have dreamed--that Miss Squeers, who seldom troubledherself with scholastic matters, inquired with much curiosity who thisKnuckleboy was, that gave himself such airs.

'Nickleby,' said Squeers, spelling the name according to some eccentricsystem which prevailed in his own mind; 'your mother always calls thingsand people by their wrong names.'

'No matter for that,' said Mrs Squeers; 'I see them with right eyes,and that's quite enough for me. I watched him when you were laying onto little Bolder this afternoon. He looked as black as thunder, all thewhile, and, one time, started up as if he had more than got it in hismind to make a rush at you. I saw him, though he thought I didn't.'

'Never mind that, father,' said Miss Squeers, as the head of the familywas about to reply. 'Who is the man?'

'Why, your father has got some nonsense in his head that he's the son ofa poor gentleman that died the other day,' said Mrs Squeers.

'The son of a gentleman!'

'Yes; but I don't believe a word of it. If he's a gentleman's son atall, he's a fondling, that's my opinion.'

'Mrs Squeers intended to say 'foundling,' but, as she frequentlyremarked when she made any such mistake, it would be all the same ahundred years hence; with which axiom of philosophy, indeed, she was inthe constant habit of consoling the boys when they laboured under morethan ordinary ill-usage.

'He's nothing of the kind,' said Squeers, in answer to the above remark,'for his father was married to his mother years before he was born, andshe is alive now. If he was, it would be no business of ours, for wemake a very good friend by having him here; and if he likes to learn theboys anything besides minding them, I have no objection I am sure.'

'I say again, I hate him worse than poison,' said Mrs Squeersvehemently.

'If you dislike him, my dear,' returned Squeers, 'I don't know anybodywho can show dislike better than you, and of course there's no occasion,with him, to take the trouble to hide it.'

'I don't intend to, I assure you,' interposed Mrs S.

'That's right,' said Squeers; 'and if he has a touch of pride about him,as I think he has, I don't believe there's woman in all England that canbring anybody's spirit down, as quick as you can, my love.'

Mrs Squeers chuckled vastly on the receipt of these flatteringcompliments, and said, she hoped she had tamed a high spirit or two inher day. It is but due to her character to say, that in conjunction withher estimable husband, she had broken many and many a one.

Miss Fanny Squeers carefully treasured up this, and much moreconversation on the same subject, until she retired for the night,when she questioned the hungry servant, minutely, regarding the outwardappearance and demeanour of Nicholas; to which queries the girl returnedsuch enthusiastic replies, coupled with so many laudatory remarkstouching his beautiful dark eyes, and his sweet smile, and his straightlegs--upon which last-named articles she laid particular stress; thegeneral run of legs at Dotheboys Hall being crooked--that Miss Squeerswas not long in arriving at the conclusion that the new usher must bea very remarkable person, or, as she herself significantly phrased it,'something quite out of the common.' And so Miss Squeers made up hermind that she would take a personal observation of Nicholas the verynext day.

In pursuance of this design, the young lady watched the opportunity ofher mother being engaged, and her father absent, and went accidentallyinto the schoolroom to get a pen mended: where, seeing nobody butNicholas presiding over the boys, she blushed very deeply, and exhibitedgreat confusion.

'I beg your pardon,' faltered Miss Squeers; 'I thought my father was--ormight be--dear me, how very awkward!'

'Mr Squeers is out,' said Nicholas, by no means overcome by theapparition, unexpected though it was.

'Do you know will he be long, sir?' asked Miss Squeers, with bashfulhesitation.

'He said about an hour,' replied Nicholas--politely of course, butwithout any indication of being stricken to the heart by Miss Squeers'scharms.

'I never knew anything happen so cross,' exclaimed the young lady.'Thank you! I am very sorry I intruded, I am sure. If I hadn't thoughtmy father was here, I wouldn't upon any account have--it is veryprovoking--must look so very strange,' murmured Miss Squeers, blushingonce more, and glancing, from the pen in her hand, to Nicholas at hisdesk, and back again.

'If that is all you want,' said Nicholas, pointing to the pen, andsmiling, in spite of himself, at the affected embarrassment of theschoolmaster's daughter, 'perhaps I can supply his place.'

Miss Squeers glanced at the door, as if dubious of the propriety ofadvancing any nearer to an utter stranger; then round the schoolroom,as though in some measure reassured by the presence of forty boys; andfinally sidled up to Nicholas and delivered the pen into his hand, witha most winning mixture of reserve and condescension.

'Shall it be a hard or a soft nib?' inquired Nicholas, smiling toprevent himself from laughing outright.

'He HAS a beautiful smile,' thought Miss Squeers.

'Which did you say?' asked Nicholas.

'Dear me, I was thinking of something else for the moment, I declare,'replied Miss Squeers. 'Oh! as soft as possible, if you please.' Withwhich words, Miss Squeers sighed. It might be, to give Nicholas tounderstand that her heart was soft, and that the pen was wanted tomatch.

Upon these instructions Nicholas made the pen; when he gave it to MissSqueers, Miss Squeers dropped it; and when he stooped to pick it up,Miss Squeers stopped also, and they knocked their heads together;whereat five-and-twenty little boys laughed aloud: being positively forthe first and only time that half-year.

'Very awkward of me,' said Nicholas, opening the door for the younglady's retreat.

'Not at all, sir,' replied Miss Squeers; 'it was my fault. It was all myfoolish--a--a--good-morning!'

'Goodbye,' said Nicholas. 'The next I make for you, I hope will be madeless clumsily. Take care! You are biting the nib off now.'

'Really,' said Miss Squeers; 'so embarrassing that I scarcely know whatI--very sorry to give you so much trouble.'

'Not the least trouble in the world,' replied Nicholas, closing theschoolroom door.

'I never saw such legs in the whole course of my life!' said MissSqueers, as she walked away.

In fact, Miss Squeers was in love with Nicholas Nickleby.

To account for the rapidity with which this young lady had conceived apassion for Nicholas, it may be necessary to state, that the friendfrom whom she had so recently returned, was a miller's daughter ofonly eighteen, who had contracted herself unto the son of a smallcorn-factor, resident in the nearest market town. Miss Squeers and themiller's daughter, being fast friends, had covenanted together some twoyears before, according to a custom prevalent among young ladies, thatwhoever was first engaged to be married, should straightway confide themighty secret to the bosom of the other, before communicating it toany living soul, and bespeak her as bridesmaid without loss of time; infulfilment of which pledge the miller's daughter, when her engagementwas formed, came out express, at eleven o'clock at night as thecorn-factor's son made an offer of his hand and heart at twenty-fiveminutes past ten by the Dutch clock in the kitchen, and rushed into MissSqueers's bedroom with the gratifying intelligence. Now, Miss Squeersbeing five years older, and out of her teens (which is also a greatmatter), had, since, been more than commonly anxious to return thecompliment, and possess her friend with a similar secret; but, eitherin consequence of finding it hard to please herself, or harder still toplease anybody else, had never had an opportunity so to do, inasmuch asshe had no such secret to disclose. The little interview with Nicholashad no sooner passed, as above described, however, than Miss Squeers,putting on her bonnet, made her way, with great precipitation, toher friend's house, and, upon a solemn renewal of divers old vows ofsecrecy, revealed how that she was--not exactly engaged, but going tobe--to a gentleman's son--(none of your corn-factors, but a gentleman'sson of high descent)--who had come down as teacher to Dotheboys Hall,under most mysterious and remarkable circumstances--indeed, as MissSqueers more than once hinted she had good reason to believe, induced,by the fame of her many charms, to seek her out, and woo and win her.

'Isn't it an extraordinary thing?' said Miss Squeers, emphasising theadjective strongly.

'Most extraordinary,' replied the friend. 'But what has he said to you?'

'Don't ask me what he said, my dear,' rejoined Miss Squeers. 'If you hadonly seen his looks and smiles! I never was so overcome in all my life.'

'Did he look in this way?' inquired the miller's daughter,counterfeiting, as nearly as she could, a favourite leer of thecorn-factor.

'Very like that--only more genteel,' replied Miss Squeers.

'Ah!' said the friend, 'then he means something, depend on it.'

Miss Squeers, having slight misgivings on the subject, was by no meansill pleased to be confirmed by a competent authority; and discovering,on further conversation and comparison of notes, a great many pointsof resemblance between the behaviour of Nicholas, and that of thecorn-factor, grew so exceedingly confidential, that she intrusted herfriend with a vast number of things Nicholas had NOT said, which wereall so very complimentary as to be quite conclusive. Then, she dilatedon the fearful hardship of having a father and mother strenuouslyopposed to her intended husband; on which unhappy circumstance she dweltat great length; for the friend's father and mother were quite agreeableto her being married, and the whole courtship was in consequence as flatand common-place an affair as it was possible to imagine.

'How I should like to see him!' exclaimed the friend.

'So you shall, 'Tilda,' replied Miss Squeers. 'I should consider myselfone of the most ungrateful creatures alive, if I denied you. I thinkmother's going away for two days to fetch some boys; and when she does,I'll ask you and John up to tea, and have him to meet you.'

This was a charming idea, and having fully discussed it, the friendsparted.

It so fell out, that Mrs Squeers's journey, to some distance, to fetchthree new boys, and dun the relations of two old ones for the balanceof a small account, was fixed that very afternoon, for the next day butone; and on the next day but one, Mrs Squeers got up outside the coach,as it stopped to change at Greta Bridge, taking with her a small bundlecontaining something in a bottle, and some sandwiches, and carryingbesides a large white top-coat to wear in the night-time; with whichbaggage she went her way.

Whenever such opportunities as these occurred, it was Squeers's customto drive over to the market town, every evening, on pretence of urgentbusiness, and stop till ten or eleven o'clock at a tavern he muchaffected. As the party was not in his way, therefore, but ratherafforded a means of compromise with Miss Squeers, he readily yielded hisfull assent thereunto, and willingly communicated to Nicholas thathe was expected to take his tea in the parlour that evening, at fiveo'clock.

To be sure Miss Squeers was in a desperate flutter as the timeapproached, and to be sure she was dressed out to the best advantage:with her hair--it had more than a tinge of red, and she wore it in acrop--curled in five distinct rows, up to the very top of her head, andarranged dexterously over the doubtful eye; to say nothing of theblue sash which floated down her back, or the worked apron or the longgloves, or the green gauze scarf worn over one shoulder and under theother; or any of the numerous devices which were to be as so many arrowsto the heart of Nicholas. She had scarcely completed these arrangementsto her entire satisfaction, when the friend arrived with a whity-brownparcel--flat and three-cornered--containing sundry small adornmentswhich were to be put on upstairs, and which the friend put on, talkingincessantly. When Miss Squeers had 'done' the friend's hair, the friend'did' Miss Squeers's hair, throwing in some striking improvements in theway of ringlets down the neck; and then, when they were both touched upto their entire satisfaction, they went downstairs in full state withthe long gloves on, all ready for company.

'Where's John, 'Tilda?' said Miss Squeers.

'Only gone home to clean himself,' replied the friend. 'He will be hereby the time the tea's drawn.'

'I do so palpitate,' observed Miss Squeers.

'Ah! I know what it is,' replied the friend.

'I have not been used to it, you know, 'Tilda,' said Miss Squeers,applying her hand to the left side of her sash.

'You'll soon get the better of it, dear,' rejoined the friend. Whilethey were talking thus, the hungry servant brought in the tea-things,and, soon afterwards, somebody tapped at the room door.

'There he is!' cried Miss Squeers. 'Oh 'Tilda!'

'Hush!' said 'Tilda. 'Hem! Say, come in.'

'Come in,' cried Miss Squeers faintly. And in walked Nicholas.

'Good-evening,' said that young gentleman, all unconscious of hisconquest. 'I understood from Mr Squeers that--'

'Oh yes; it's all right,' interposed Miss Squeers. 'Father don't teawith us, but you won't mind that, I dare say.' (This was said archly.)

Nicholas opened his eyes at this, but he turned the matter off verycoolly--not caring, particularly, about anything just then--and wentthrough the ceremony of introduction to the miller's daughter with somuch grace, that that young lady was lost in admiration.

'We are only waiting for one more gentleman,' said Miss Squeers, takingoff the teapot lid, and looking in, to see how the tea was getting on.

It was matter of equal moment to Nicholas whether they were waiting forone gentleman or twenty, so he received the intelligence with perfectunconcern; and, being out of spirits, and not seeing any especial reasonwhy he should make himself agreeable, looked out of the window andsighed involuntarily.

As luck would have it, Miss Squeers's friend was of a playful turn, andhearing Nicholas sigh, she took it into her head to rally the lovers ontheir lowness of spirits.

'But if it's caused by my being here,' said the young lady, 'don't mindme a bit, for I'm quite as bad. You may go on just as you would if youwere alone.'

''Tilda,' said Miss Squeers, colouring up to the top row of curls,'I am ashamed of you;' and here the two friends burst into a varietyof giggles, and glanced from time to time, over the tops oftheir pocket-handkerchiefs, at Nicholas, who from a state ofunmixed astonishment, gradually fell into one of irrepressiblelaughter--occasioned, partly by the bare notion of his being in lovewith Miss Squeers, and partly by the preposterous appearance andbehaviour of the two girls. These two causes of merriment, takentogether, struck him as being so keenly ridiculous, that, despite hismiserable condition, he laughed till he was thoroughly exhausted.

'Well,' thought Nicholas, 'as I am here, and seem expected, for somereason or other, to be amiable, it's of no use looking like a goose. Imay as well accommodate myself to the company.'

We blush to tell it; but his youthful spirits and vivacity getting,for the time, the better of his sad thoughts, he no sooner formedthis resolution than he saluted Miss Squeers and the friend with greatgallantry, and drawing a chair to the tea-table, began to make himselfmore at home than in all probability an usher has ever done in hisemployer's house since ushers were first invented.

The ladies were in the full delight of this altered behaviour on thepart of Mr Nickleby, when the expected swain arrived, with his hair verydamp from recent washing, and a clean shirt, whereof the collar mighthave belonged to some giant ancestor, forming, together with a whitewaistcoat of similar dimensions, the chief ornament of his person.

'Well, John,' said Miss Matilda Price (which, by-the-bye, was the nameof the miller's daughter).

'Weel,' said John with a grin that even the collar could not conceal.

'I beg your pardon,' interposed Miss Squeers, hastening to do thehonours. 'Mr Nickleby--Mr John Browdie.'

'Servant, sir,' said John, who was something over six feet high, with aface and body rather above the due proportion than below it.

'Yours to command, sir,' replied Nicholas, making fearful ravages on thebread and butter.

Mr Browdie was not a gentleman of great conversational powers, sohe grinned twice more, and having now bestowed his customary markof recognition on every person in company, grinned at nothing inparticular, and helped himself to food.

'Old wooman awa', bean't she?' said Mr Browdie, with his mouth full.

Miss Squeers nodded assent.

Mr Browdie gave a grin of special width, as if he thought that reallywas something to laugh at, and went to work at the bread and butter withincreased vigour. It was quite a sight to behold how he and Nicholasemptied the plate between them.

'Ye wean't get bread and butther ev'ry neight, I expect, mun,' said MrBrowdie, after he had sat staring at Nicholas a long time over the emptyplate.

Nicholas bit his lip, and coloured, but affected not to hear the remark.

'Ecod,' said Mr Browdie, laughing boisterously, 'they dean't put toomuch intiv'em. Ye'll be nowt but skeen and boans if you stop here longeneaf. Ho! ho! ho!'

'You are facetious, sir,' said Nicholas, scornfully.

'Na; I dean't know,' replied Mr Browdie, 'but t'oother teacher, 'codhe wur a learn 'un, he wur.' The recollection of the last teacher'sleanness seemed to afford Mr Browdie the most exquisite delight, for helaughed until he found it necessary to apply his coat-cuffs to his eyes.

'I don't know whether your perceptions are quite keen enough, MrBrowdie, to enable you to understand that your remarks are offensive,'said Nicholas in a towering passion, 'but if they are, have the goodnessto--'

'If you say another word, John,' shrieked Miss Price, stopping heradmirer's mouth as he was about to interrupt, 'only half a word, I'llnever forgive you, or speak to you again.'

'Weel, my lass, I dean't care aboot 'un,' said the corn-factor,bestowing a hearty kiss on Miss Matilda; 'let 'un gang on, let 'un gangon.'

It now became Miss Squeers's turn to intercede with Nicholas, which shedid with many symptoms of alarm and horror; the effect of the doubleintercession was, that he and John Browdie shook hands across the tablewith much gravity; and such was the imposing nature of the ceremonial,that Miss Squeers was overcome and shed tears.

'What's the matter, Fanny?' said Miss Price.

'Nothing, 'Tilda,' replied Miss Squeers, sobbing.

'There never was any danger,' said Miss Price, 'was there, Mr Nickleby?'

'None at all,' replied Nicholas. 'Absurd.'

'That's right,' whispered Miss Price, 'say something kind to her,and she'll soon come round. Here! Shall John and I go into the littlekitchen, and come back presently?'

'Not on any account,' rejoined Nicholas, quite alarmed at theproposition. 'What on earth should you do that for?'

'Well,' said Miss Price, beckoning him aside, and speaking with somedegree of contempt--'you ARE a one to keep company.'

'What do you mean?' said Nicholas; 'I am not a one to keep company atall--here at all events. I can't make this out.'

'No, nor I neither,' rejoined Miss Price; 'but men are always fickle,and always were, and always will be; that I can make out, very easily.'

'Fickle!' cried Nicholas; 'what do you suppose? You don't mean to saythat you think--'

'Oh no, I think nothing at all,' retorted Miss Price, pettishly.'Look at her, dressed so beautiful and looking so well--really ALMOSThandsome. I am ashamed at you.'

'My dear girl, what have I got to do with her dressing beautifully orlooking well?' inquired Nicholas.

'Come, don't call me a dear girl,' said Miss Price--smiling a littlethough, for she was pretty, and a coquette too in her small way, andNicholas was good-looking, and she supposed him the property of somebodyelse, which were all reasons why she should be gratified to think shehad made an impression on him,--'or Fanny will be saying it's my fault.Come; we're going to have a game at cards.' Pronouncing these last wordsaloud, she tripped away and rejoined the big Yorkshireman.

This was wholly unintelligible to Nicholas, who had no other distinctimpression on his mind at the moment, than that Miss Squeers was anordinary-looking girl, and her friend Miss Price a pretty one; but hehad not time to enlighten himself by reflection, for the hearth beingby this time swept up, and the candle snuffed, they sat down to playspeculation.

'There are only four of us, 'Tilda,' said Miss Squeers, looking slyly atNicholas; 'so we had better go partners, two against two.'

'What do you say, Mr Nickleby?' inquired Miss Price.

'With all the pleasure in life,' replied Nicholas. And so saying, quiteunconscious of his heinous offence, he amalgamated into one common heapthose portions of a Dotheboys Hall card of terms, which represented hisown counters, and those allotted to Miss Price, respectively.

'Mr Browdie,' said Miss Squeers hysterically, 'shall we make a bankagainst them?'

The Yorkshireman assented--apparently quite overwhelmed by the newusher's impudence--and Miss Squeers darted a spiteful look at herfriend, and giggled convulsively.

The deal fell to Nicholas, and the hand prospered.

'We intend to win everything,' said he.

''Tilda HAS won something she didn't expect, I think, haven't you,dear?' said Miss Squeers, maliciously.

'Only a dozen and eight, love,' replied Miss Price, affecting to takethe question in a literal sense.

'How dull you are tonight!' sneered Miss Squeers.

'No, indeed,' replied Miss Price, 'I am in excellent spirits. I wasthinking YOU seemed out of sorts.'

'Me!' cried Miss Squeers, biting her lips, and trembling with veryjealousy. 'Oh no!'

'That's well,' remarked Miss Price. 'Your hair's coming out of curl,dear.'

'Never mind me,' tittered Miss Squeers; 'you had better attend to yourpartner.'

'Thank you for reminding her,' said Nicholas. 'So she had.'

The Yorkshireman flattened his nose, once or twice, with his clenchedfist, as if to keep his hand in, till he had an opportunity ofexercising it upon the features of some other gentleman; and MissSqueers tossed her head with such indignation, that the gust of windraised by the multitudinous curls in motion, nearly blew the candle out.

'I never had such luck, really,' exclaimed coquettish Miss Price, afteranother hand or two. 'It's all along of you, Mr Nickleby, I think. Ishould like to have you for a partner always.'

'I wish you had.'

'You'll have a bad wife, though, if you always win at cards,' said MissPrice.

'Not if your wish is gratified,' replied Nicholas. 'I am sure I shallhave a good one in that case.'

To see how Miss Squeers tossed her head, and the corn-factor flattenedhis nose, while this conversation was carrying on! It would have beenworth a small annuity to have beheld that; let alone Miss Price'sevident joy at making them jealous, and Nicholas Nickleby's happyunconsciousness of making anybody uncomfortable.

'We have all the talking to ourselves, it seems,' said Nicholas, lookinggood-humouredly round the table as he took up the cards for a freshdeal.

'You do it so well,' tittered Miss Squeers, 'that it would be a pity tointerrupt, wouldn't it, Mr Browdie? He! he! he!'

'Nay,' said Nicholas, 'we do it in default of having anybody else totalk to.'

'We'll talk to you, you know, if you'll say anything,' said Miss Price.

'Thank you, 'Tilda, dear,' retorted Miss Squeers, majestically.

'Or you can talk to each other, if you don't choose to talk to us,'said Miss Price, rallying her dear friend. 'John, why don't you saysomething?'

'Say summat?' repeated the Yorkshireman.

'Ay, and not sit there so silent and glum.'

'Weel, then!' said the Yorkshireman, striking the table heavily with hisfist, 'what I say's this--Dang my boans and boddy, if I stan' this onylonger. Do ye gang whoam wi' me, and do yon loight an' toight youngwhipster look sharp out for a brokken head, next time he cums under myhond.'

'Mercy on us, what's all this?' cried Miss Price, in affectedastonishment.

'Cum whoam, tell 'e, cum whoam,' replied the Yorkshireman, sternly. Andas he delivered the reply, Miss Squeers burst into a shower of tears;arising in part from desperate vexation, and in part from an impotentdesire to lacerate somebody's countenance with her fair finger-nails.

This state of things had been brought about by divers means andworkings. Miss Squeers had brought it about, by aspiring to the highstate and condition of being matrimonially engaged, without good groundsfor so doing; Miss Price had brought it about, by indulging in threemotives of action: first, a desire to punish her friend for layingclaim to a rivalship in dignity, having no good title: secondly, thegratification of her own vanity, in receiving the compliments of a smartyoung man: and thirdly, a wish to convince the corn-factor of the greatdanger he ran, in deferring the celebration of their expected nuptials;while Nicholas had brought it about, by half an hour's gaiety andthoughtlessness, and a very sincere desire to avoid the imputation ofinclining at all to Miss Squeers. So the means employed, and the endproduced, were alike the most natural in the world; for young ladieswill look forward to being married, and will jostle each other in therace to the altar, and will avail themselves of all opportunities ofdisplaying their own attractions to the best advantage, down to the veryend of time, as they have done from its beginning.

'Why, and here's Fanny in tears now!' exclaimed Miss Price, as if infresh amazement. 'What can be the matter?'

'Oh! you don't know, miss, of course you don't know. Pray don't troubleyourself to inquire,' said Miss Squeers, producing that change ofcountenance which children call making a face.

'Well, I'm sure!' exclaimed Miss Price.

'And who cares whether you are sure or not, ma'am?' retorted MissSqueers, making another face.

'You are monstrous polite, ma'am,' said Miss Price.

'I shall not come to you to take lessons in the art, ma'am!' retortedMiss Squeers.

'You needn't take the trouble to make yourself plainer than youare, ma'am, however,' rejoined Miss Price, 'because that's quiteunnecessary.'

Miss Squeers, in reply, turned very red, and thanked God that shehadn't got the bold faces of some people. Miss Price, in rejoinder,congratulated herself upon not being possessed of the envious feeling ofother people; whereupon Miss Squeers made some general remark touchingthe danger of associating with low persons; in which Miss Price entirelycoincided: observing that it was very true indeed, and she had thoughtso a long time.

''Tilda,' exclaimed Miss Squeers with dignity, 'I hate you.'

'Ah! There's no love lost between us, I assure you,' said Miss Price,tying her bonnet strings with a jerk. 'You'll cry your eyes out, whenI'm gone; you know you will.'

'I scorn your words, Minx,' said Miss Squeers.

'You pay me a great compliment when you say so,' answered the miller'sdaughter, curtseying very low. 'Wish you a very good-night, ma'am, andpleasant dreams attend your sleep!'

With this parting benediction, Miss Price swept from the room, followedby the huge Yorkshireman, who exchanged with Nicholas, at parting, thatpeculiarly expressive scowl with which the cut-and-thrust counts, inmelodramatic performances, inform each other they will meet again.

They were no sooner gone, than Miss Squeers fulfilled the prediction ofher quondam friend by giving vent to a most copious burst of tears,and uttering various dismal lamentations and incoherent words. Nicholasstood looking on for a few seconds, rather doubtful what to do, butfeeling uncertain whether the fit would end in his being embraced,or scratched, and considering that either infliction would be equallyagreeable, he walked off very quietly while Miss Squeers was moaning inher pocket-handkerchief.

'This is one consequence,' thought Nicholas, when he had groped his wayto the dark sleeping-room, 'of my cursed readiness to adapt myselfto any society in which chance carries me. If I had sat mute andmotionless, as I might have done, this would not have happened.'

He listened for a few minutes, but all was quiet.

'I was glad,' he murmured, 'to grasp at any relief from the sight ofthis dreadful place, or the presence of its vile master. I have setthese people by the ears, and made two new enemies, where, Heaven knows,I needed none. Well, it is a just punishment for having forgotten, evenfor an hour, what is around me now!'

So saying, he felt his way among the throng of weary-hearted sleepers,and crept into his poor bed.