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It was a fortunate circumstance for Miss Fanny Squeers, that when herworthy papa returned home on the night of the small tea-party, he waswhat the initiated term 'too far gone' to observe the numerous tokensof extreme vexation of spirit which were plainly visible in hercountenance. Being, however, of a rather violent and quarrelsome mood inhis cups, it is not impossible that he might have fallen out with her,either on this or some imaginary topic, if the young lady had not, witha foresight and prudence highly commendable, kept a boy up, on purpose,to bear the first brunt of the good gentleman's anger; which, havingvented itself in a variety of kicks and cuffs, subsided sufficiently toadmit of his being persuaded to go to bed. Which he did with his bootson, and an umbrella under his arm.

The hungry servant attended Miss Squeers in her own room accordingto custom, to curl her hair, perform the other little offices of hertoilet, and administer as much flattery as she could get up, for thepurpose; for Miss Squeers was quite lazy enough (and sufficiently vainand frivolous withal) to have been a fine lady; and it was only thearbitrary distinctions of rank and station which prevented her frombeing one.

'How lovely your hair do curl tonight, miss!' said the handmaiden. 'Ideclare if it isn't a pity and a shame to brush it out!'

'Hold your tongue!' replied Miss Squeers wrathfully.

Some considerable experience prevented the girl from being at allsurprised at any outbreak of ill-temper on the part of Miss Squeers.Having a half-perception of what had occurred in the course of theevening, she changed her mode of making herself agreeable, and proceededon the indirect tack.

'Well, I couldn't help saying, miss, if you was to kill me for it,' saidthe attendant, 'that I never see nobody look so vulgar as Miss Pricethis night.'

Miss Squeers sighed, and composed herself to listen.

'I know it's very wrong in me to say so, miss,' continued the girl,delighted to see the impression she was making, 'Miss Price being afriend of your'n, and all; but she do dress herself out so, and go onin such a manner to get noticed, that--oh--well, if people only sawthemselves!'

'What do you mean, Phib?' asked Miss Squeers, looking in her own littleglass, where, like most of us, she saw--not herself, but the reflectionof some pleasant image in her own brain. 'How you talk!'

'Talk, miss! It's enough to make a Tom cat talk French grammar, only tosee how she tosses her head,' replied the handmaid.

'She DOES toss her head,' observed Miss Squeers, with an air ofabstraction.

'So vain, and so very--very plain,' said the girl.

'Poor 'Tilda!' sighed Miss Squeers, compassionately.

'And always laying herself out so, to get to be admired,' pursued theservant. 'Oh, dear! It's positive indelicate.'

'I can't allow you to talk in that way, Phib,' said Miss Squeers.''Tilda's friends are low people, and if she don't know any better, it'stheir fault, and not hers.'

'Well, but you know, miss,' said Phoebe, for which name 'Phib' wasused as a patronising abbreviation, 'if she was only to take copy bya friend--oh! if she only knew how wrong she was, and would but setherself right by you, what a nice young woman she might be in time!'

'Phib,' rejoined Miss Squeers, with a stately air, 'it's not properfor me to hear these comparisons drawn; they make 'Tilda look a coarseimproper sort of person, and it seems unfriendly in me to listen tothem. I would rather you dropped the subject, Phib; at the same time,I must say, that if 'Tilda Price would take pattern by somebody--not meparticularly--'

'Oh yes; you, miss,' interposed Phib.

'Well, me, Phib, if you will have it so,' said Miss Squeers. 'I mustsay, that if she would, she would be all the better for it.'

'So somebody else thinks, or I am much mistaken,' said the girlmysteriously.

'What do you mean?' demanded Miss Squeers.

'Never mind, miss,' replied the girl; 'I know what I know; that's all.'

'Phib,' said Miss Squeers dramatically, 'I insist upon your explainingyourself. What is this dark mystery? Speak.'

'Why, if you will have it, miss, it's this,' said the servant girl. 'MrJohn Browdie thinks as you think; and if he wasn't too far gone to doit creditable, he'd be very glad to be off with Miss Price, and on withMiss Squeers.'

'Gracious heavens!' exclaimed Miss Squeers, clasping her hands withgreat dignity. 'What is this?'

'Truth, ma'am, and nothing but truth,' replied the artful Phib.

'What a situation!' cried Miss Squeers; 'on the brink of unconsciouslydestroying the peace and happiness of my own 'Tilda. What is the reasonthat men fall in love with me, whether I like it or not, and deserttheir chosen intendeds for my sake?'

'Because they can't help it, miss,' replied the girl; 'the reason'splain.' (If Miss Squeers were the reason, it was very plain.)

'Never let me hear of it again,' retorted Miss Squeers. 'Never! Do youhear? 'Tilda Price has faults--many faults--but I wish her well, andabove all I wish her married; for I think it highly desirable--mostdesirable from the very nature of her failings--that she should bemarried as soon as possible. No, Phib. Let her have Mr Browdie. I maypity HIM, poor fellow; but I have a great regard for 'Tilda, and onlyhope she may make a better wife than I think she will.'

With this effusion of feeling, Miss Squeers went to bed.

Spite is a little word; but it represents as strange a jumble offeelings, and compound of discords, as any polysyllable in the language.Miss Squeers knew as well in her heart of hearts that what the miserableserving-girl had said was sheer, coarse, lying flattery, as did the girlherself; yet the mere opportunity of venting a little ill-nature againstthe offending Miss Price, and affecting to compassionate her weaknessesand foibles, though only in the presence of a solitary dependant, wasalmost as great a relief to her spleen as if the whole had been gospeltruth. Nay, more. We have such extraordinary powers of persuasionwhen they are exerted over ourselves, that Miss Squeers felt quitehigh-minded and great after her noble renunciation of John Browdie'shand, and looked down upon her rival with a kind of holy calmness andtranquillity, that had a mighty effect in soothing her ruffled feelings.

This happy state of mind had some influence in bringing about areconciliation; for, when a knock came at the front-door next day, andthe miller's daughter was announced, Miss Squeers betook herself to theparlour in a Christian frame of spirit, perfectly beautiful to behold.

'Well, Fanny,' said the miller's daughter, 'you see I have come to seeyou, although we HAD some words last night.'

'I pity your bad passions, 'Tilda,' replied Miss Squeers, 'but I bear nomalice. I am above it.'

'Don't be cross, Fanny,' said Miss Price. 'I have come to tell yousomething that I know will please you.'

'What may that be, 'Tilda?' demanded Miss Squeers; screwing up her lips,and looking as if nothing in earth, air, fire, or water, could affordher the slightest gleam of satisfaction.

'This,' rejoined Miss Price. 'After we left here last night John and Ihad a dreadful quarrel.'

'That doesn't please me,' said Miss Squeers--relaxing into a smilethough.

'Lor! I wouldn't think so bad of you as to suppose it did,' rejoined hercompanion. 'That's not it.'

'Oh!' said Miss Squeers, relapsing into melancholy. 'Go on.'

'After a great deal of wrangling, and saying we would never see eachother any more,' continued Miss Price, 'we made it up, and this morningJohn went and wrote our names down to be put up, for the first time,next Sunday, so we shall be married in three weeks, and I give younotice to get your frock made.'

There was mingled gall and honey in this intelligence. The prospect ofthe friend's being married so soon was the gall, and the certainty ofher not entertaining serious designs upon Nicholas was the honey. Uponthe whole, the sweet greatly preponderated over the bitter, so MissSqueers said she would get the frock made, and that she hoped 'Tildamight be happy, though at the same time she didn't know, and would nothave her build too much upon it, for men were strange creatures, anda great many married women were very miserable, and wished themselvessingle again with all their hearts; to which condolences Miss Squeersadded others equally calculated to raise her friend's spirits andpromote her cheerfulness of mind.

'But come now, Fanny,' said Miss Price, 'I want to have a word or twowith you about young Mr Nickleby.'

'He is nothing to me,' interrupted Miss Squeers, with hystericalsymptoms. 'I despise him too much!'

'Oh, you don't mean that, I am sure?' replied her friend. 'Confess,Fanny; don't you like him now?'

Without returning any direct reply, Miss Squeers, all at once, fell intoa paroxysm of spiteful tears, and exclaimed that she was a wretched,neglected, miserable castaway.

'I hate everybody,' said Miss Squeers, 'and I wish that everybody wasdead--that I do.'

'Dear, dear,' said Miss Price, quite moved by this avowal ofmisanthropical sentiments. 'You are not serious, I am sure.'

'Yes, I am,' rejoined Miss Squeers, tying tight knots in herpocket-handkerchief and clenching her teeth. 'And I wish I was dead too.There!'

'Oh! you'll think very differently in another five minutes,' saidMatilda. 'How much better to take him into favour again, than to hurtyourself by going on in that way. Wouldn't it be much nicer, now,to have him all to yourself on good terms, in a company-keeping,love-making, pleasant sort of manner?'

'I don't know but what it would,' sobbed Miss Squeers. 'Oh! 'Tilda, howcould you have acted so mean and dishonourable! I wouldn't have believedit of you, if anybody had told me.'

'Heyday!' exclaimed Miss Price, giggling. 'One would suppose I had beenmurdering somebody at least.'

'Very nigh as bad,' said Miss Squeers passionately.

'And all this because I happen to have enough of good looks to makepeople civil to me,' cried Miss Price. 'Persons don't make their ownfaces, and it's no more my fault if mine is a good one than it is otherpeople's fault if theirs is a bad one.'

'Hold your tongue,' shrieked Miss Squeers, in her shrillest tone; 'oryou'll make me slap you, 'Tilda, and afterwards I should be sorry forit!'

It is needless to say, that, by this time, the temper of each young ladywas in some slight degree affected by the tone of her conversation,and that a dash of personality was infused into the altercation, inconsequence. Indeed, the quarrel, from slight beginnings, rose to aconsiderable height, and was assuming a very violent complexion,when both parties, falling into a great passion of tears, exclaimedsimultaneously, that they had never thought of being spoken to in thatway: which exclamation, leading to a remonstrance, gradually broughton an explanation: and the upshot was, that they fell into each other'sarms and vowed eternal friendship; the occasion in question making thefifty-second time of repeating the same impressive ceremony within atwelvemonth.

Perfect amicability being thus restored, a dialogue naturally ensuedupon the number and nature of the garments which would be indispensablefor Miss Price's entrance into the holy state of matrimony, when MissSqueers clearly showed that a great many more than the miller could,or would, afford, were absolutely necessary, and could not decentlybe dispensed with. The young lady then, by an easy digression, ledthe discourse to her own wardrobe, and after recounting its principalbeauties at some length, took her friend upstairs to make inspectionthereof. The treasures of two drawers and a closet having beendisplayed, and all the smaller articles tried on, it was time for MissPrice to return home; and as she had been in raptures with all thefrocks, and had been stricken quite dumb with admiration of a new pinkscarf, Miss Squeers said in high good humour, that she would walk partof the way with her, for the pleasure of her company; and off they wenttogether: Miss Squeers dilating, as they walked along, upon her father'saccomplishments: and multiplying his income by ten, to give her friendsome faint notion of the vast importance and superiority of her family.

It happened that that particular time, comprising the short dailyinterval which was suffered to elapse between what was pleasantly calledthe dinner of Mr Squeers's pupils, and their return to the pursuit ofuseful knowledge, was precisely the hour when Nicholas was accustomedto issue forth for a melancholy walk, and to brood, as he saunteredlistlessly through the village, upon his miserable lot. Miss Squeersknew this perfectly well, but had perhaps forgotten it, for when shecaught sight of that young gentleman advancing towards them, she evincedmany symptoms of surprise and consternation, and assured her friend thatshe 'felt fit to drop into the earth.'

'Shall we turn back, or run into a cottage?' asked Miss Price. 'He don'tsee us yet.'

'No, 'Tilda,' replied Miss Squeers, 'it is my duty to go through withit, and I will!'

As Miss Squeers said this, in the tone of one who has made a high moralresolution, and was, besides, taken with one or two chokes and catchingsof breath, indicative of feelings at a high pressure, her friend made nofurther remark, and they bore straight down upon Nicholas, who, walkingwith his eyes bent upon the ground, was not aware of their approachuntil they were close upon him; otherwise, he might, perhaps, have takenshelter himself.

'Good-morning,' said Nicholas, bowing and passing by.

'He is going,' murmured Miss Squeers. 'I shall choke, 'Tilda.'

'Come back, Mr Nickleby, do!' cried Miss Price, affecting alarm at herfriend's threat, but really actuated by a malicious wish to hear whatNicholas would say; 'come back, Mr Nickleby!'

Mr Nickleby came back, and looked as confused as might be, as heinquired whether the ladies had any commands for him.

'Don't stop to talk,' urged Miss Price, hastily; 'but support her on theother side. How do you feel now, dear?'

'Better,' sighed Miss Squeers, laying a beaver bonnet of a reddish brownwith a green veil attached, on Mr Nickleby's shoulder. 'This foolishfaintness!'

'Don't call it foolish, dear,' said Miss Price: her bright eye dancingwith merriment as she saw the perplexity of Nicholas; 'you have noreason to be ashamed of it. It's those who are too proud to come roundagain, without all this to-do, that ought to be ashamed.'

'You are resolved to fix it upon me, I see,' said Nicholas, smiling,'although I told you, last night, it was not my fault.'

'There; he says it was not his fault, my dear,' remarked the wicked MissPrice. 'Perhaps you were too jealous, or too hasty with him? He says itwas not his fault. You hear; I think that's apology enough.'

'You will not understand me,' said Nicholas. 'Pray dispense with thisjesting, for I have no time, and really no inclination, to be thesubject or promoter of mirth just now.'

'What do you mean?' asked Miss Price, affecting amazement.

'Don't ask him, 'Tilda,' cried Miss Squeers; 'I forgive him.'

'Dear me,' said Nicholas, as the brown bonnet went down on his shoulderagain, 'this is more serious than I supposed. Allow me! Will you havethe goodness to hear me speak?'

Here he raised up the brown bonnet, and regarding with most unfeignedastonishment a look of tender reproach from Miss Squeers, shrunk back afew paces to be out of the reach of the fair burden, and went on to say:

'I am very sorry--truly and sincerely sorry--for having been thecause of any difference among you, last night. I reproach myself, mostbitterly, for having been so unfortunate as to cause the dissensionthat occurred, although I did so, I assure you, most unwittingly andheedlessly.'

'Well; that's not all you have got to say surely,' exclaimed Miss Priceas Nicholas paused.

'I fear there is something more,' stammered Nicholas with a half-smile,and looking towards Miss Squeers, 'it is a most awkward thing tosay--but--the very mention of such a supposition makes one look like apuppy--still--may I ask if that lady supposes that I entertain any--inshort, does she think that I am in love with her?'

'Delightful embarrassment,' thought Miss Squeers, 'I have brought him toit, at last. Answer for me, dear,' she whispered to her friend.

'Does she think so?' rejoined Miss Price; 'of course she does.'

'She does!' exclaimed Nicholas with such energy of utterance as mighthave been, for the moment, mistaken for rapture.

'Certainly,' replied Miss Price

'If Mr Nickleby has doubted that, 'Tilda,' said the blushing MissSqueers in soft accents, 'he may set his mind at rest. His sentimentsare recipro--'

'Stop,' cried Nicholas hurriedly; 'pray hear me. This is the grossestand wildest delusion, the completest and most signal mistake, that everhuman being laboured under, or committed. I have scarcely seen theyoung lady half-a-dozen times, but if I had seen her sixty times, or amdestined to see her sixty thousand, it would be, and will be, preciselythe same. I have not one thought, wish, or hope, connected with her,unless it be--and I say this, not to hurt her feelings, but to impressher with the real state of my own--unless it be the one object, dear tomy heart as life itself, of being one day able to turn my back uponthis accursed place, never to set foot in it again, or think of it--eventhink of it--but with loathing and disgust.'

With this particularly plain and straightforward declaration, whichhe made with all the vehemence that his indignant and excited feelingscould bring to bear upon it, Nicholas waiting to hear no more,retreated.

But poor Miss Squeers! Her anger, rage, and vexation; the rapidsuccession of bitter and passionate feelings that whirled through hermind; are not to be described. Refused! refused by a teacher, pickedup by advertisement, at an annual salary of five pounds payable atindefinite periods, and 'found' in food and lodging like the very boysthemselves; and this too in the presence of a little chit of a miller'sdaughter of eighteen, who was going to be married, in three weeks' time,to a man who had gone down on his very knees to ask her. She could havechoked in right good earnest, at the thought of being so humbled.

But, there was one thing clear in the midst of her mortification; andthat was, that she hated and detested Nicholas with all the narrownessof mind and littleness of purpose worthy a descendant of the house ofSqueers. And there was one comfort too; and that was, that every hour inevery day she could wound his pride, and goad him with the inflictionof some slight, or insult, or deprivation, which could not but have someeffect on the most insensible person, and must be acutely felt by one sosensitive as Nicholas. With these two reflections uppermost in her mind,Miss Squeers made the best of the matter to her friend, by observingthat Mr Nickleby was such an odd creature, and of such a violent temper,that she feared she should be obliged to give him up; and parted fromher.

And here it may be remarked, that Miss Squeers, having bestowed heraffections (or whatever it might be that, in the absence of anythingbetter, represented them) on Nicholas Nickleby, had never once seriouslycontemplated the possibility of his being of a different opinionfrom herself in the business. Miss Squeers reasoned that she wasprepossessing and beautiful, and that her father was master, andNicholas man, and that her father had saved money, and Nicholas hadnone, all of which seemed to her conclusive arguments why the young manshould feel only too much honoured by her preference. She had not failedto recollect, either, how much more agreeable she could render hissituation if she were his friend, and how much more disagreeable if shewere his enemy; and, doubtless, many less scrupulous young gentlementhan Nicholas would have encouraged her extravagance had it been onlyfor this very obvious and intelligible reason. However, he had thoughtproper to do otherwise, and Miss Squeers was outrageous.

'Let him see,' said the irritated young lady, when she had regained herown room, and eased her mind by committing an assault on Phib, 'if Idon't set mother against him a little more when she comes back!'

It was scarcely necessary to do this, but Miss Squeers was as good asher word; and poor Nicholas, in addition to bad food, dirty lodging,and the being compelled to witness one dull unvarying round of squalidmisery, was treated with every special indignity that malice couldsuggest, or the most grasping cupidity put upon him.

Nor was this all. There was another and deeper system of annoyance whichmade his heart sink, and nearly drove him wild, by its injustice andcruelty.

The wretched creature, Smike, since the night Nicholas had spokenkindly to him in the schoolroom, had followed him to and fro, with anever-restless desire to serve or help him; anticipating such littlewants as his humble ability could supply, and content only to be nearhim. He would sit beside him for hours, looking patiently into his face;and a word would brighten up his care-worn visage, and call into it apassing gleam, even of happiness. He was an altered being; he had anobject now; and that object was, to show his attachment to the onlyperson--that person a stranger--who had treated him, not to say withkindness, but like a human creature.

Upon this poor being, all the spleen and ill-humour that could not bevented on Nicholas were unceasingly bestowed. Drudgery would have beennothing--Smike was well used to that. Buffetings inflicted withoutcause, would have been equally a matter of course; for to them alsohe had served a long and weary apprenticeship; but it was no soonerobserved that he had become attached to Nicholas, than stripes andblows, stripes and blows, morning, noon, and night, were his onlyportion. Squeers was jealous of the influence which his man had so soonacquired, and his family hated him, and Smike paid for both. Nicholassaw it, and ground his teeth at every repetition of the savage andcowardly attack.

He had arranged a few regular lessons for the boys; and one night, ashe paced up and down the dismal schoolroom, his swollen heart almostbursting to think that his protection and countenance should haveincreased the misery of the wretched being whose peculiar destitutionhad awakened his pity, he paused mechanically in a dark corner where satthe object of his thoughts.

The poor soul was poring hard over a tattered book, with the traces ofrecent tears still upon his face; vainly endeavouring to master sometask which a child of nine years old, possessed of ordinary powers,could have conquered with ease, but which, to the addled brain of thecrushed boy of nineteen, was a sealed and hopeless mystery. Yet there hesat, patiently conning the page again and again, stimulated by no boyishambition, for he was the common jest and scoff even of the uncouthobjects that congregated about him, but inspired by the one eager desireto please his solitary friend.

Nicholas laid his hand upon his shoulder.

'I can't do it,' said the dejected creature, looking up with bitterdisappointment in every feature. 'No, no.'

'Do not try,' replied Nicholas.

The boy shook his head, and closing the book with a sigh, lookedvacantly round, and laid his head upon his arm. He was weeping.

'Do not for God's sake,' said Nicholas, in an agitated voice; 'I cannotbear to see you.'

'They are more hard with me than ever,' sobbed the boy.

'I know it,' rejoined Nicholas. 'They are.'

'But for you,' said the outcast, 'I should die. They would kill me; theywould; I know they would.'

'You will do better, poor fellow,' replied Nicholas, shaking his headmournfully, 'when I am gone.'

'Gone!' cried the other, looking intently in his face.

'Softly!' rejoined Nicholas. 'Yes.'

'Are you going?' demanded the boy, in an earnest whisper.

'I cannot say,' replied Nicholas. 'I was speaking more to my ownthoughts, than to you.'

'Tell me,' said the boy imploringly, 'oh do tell me, WILL you go--WILLyou?'

'I shall be driven to that at last!' said Nicholas. 'The world is beforeme, after all.'

'Tell me,' urged Smike, 'is the world as bad and dismal as this place?'

'Heaven forbid,' replied Nicholas, pursuing the train of his ownthoughts; 'its hardest, coarsest toil, were happiness to this.'

'Should I ever meet you there?' demanded the boy, speaking with unusualwildness and volubility.

'Yes,' replied Nicholas, willing to soothe him.

'No, no!' said the other, clasping him by the hand. 'Should I--shouldI--tell me that again. Say I should be sure to find you.'

'You would,' replied Nicholas, with the same humane intention, 'and Iwould help and aid you, and not bring fresh sorrow on you as I have donehere.'

The boy caught both the young man's hands passionately in his, and,hugging them to his breast, uttered a few broken sounds which wereunintelligible. Squeers entered at the moment, and he shrunk back intohis old corner.