Nicholas Nickleby. Чарльз Диккенс

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 little kitchen, and come back presently?’

      ‘Not on any account,’ rejoined Nicholas, quite alarmed at the proposition. ‘What on earth should you do that for?’

      ‘Well,’ said Miss Price, beckoning him aside, and speaking with some degree of contempt – ‘you are a one to keep company.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ said Nicholas; ‘I am not a one to keep company at all – 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 say that you think – ’

      ‘Oh no, I think nothing at all,’ retorted Miss Price, pettishly. ‘Look at her, dressed so beautiful and looking so well – really almost handsome. I am ashamed at you.’

      ‘My dear girl, what have I got to do with her dressing beautifully or looking well?’ inquired Nicholas.

      ‘Come, don’t call me a dear girl,’ said Miss Price – smiling a little though, for she was pretty, and a coquette too in her small way, and Nicholas was good-looking, and she supposed him the property of somebody else, which were all reasons why she should be gratified to think she had 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 words aloud, she tripped away and rejoined the big Yorkshireman.

      This was wholly unintelligible to Nicholas, who had no other distinct impression on his mind at the moment, than that Miss Squeers was an ordinary-looking girl, and her friend Miss Price a pretty one; but he had not time to enlighten himself by reflection, for the hearth being by this time swept up, and the candle snuffed, they sat down to play speculation.

      ‘There are only four of us, ‘Tilda,’ said Miss Squeers, looking slyly at Nicholas; ‘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, quite unconscious of his heinous offence, he amalgamated into one common heap those portions of a Dotheboys Hall card of terms, which represented his own counters, and those allotted to Miss Price, respectively.

      ‘Mr. Browdie,’ said Miss Squeers hysterically, ‘shall we make a bank against them?’

      The Yorkshireman assented – apparently quite overwhelmed by the new usher’s impudence – and Miss Squeers darted a spiteful look at her friend, 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 take the question in a literal sense.

      ‘How dull you are tonight!’ sneered Miss Squeers.

      ‘No, indeed,’ replied Miss Price, ‘I am in excellent spirits. I was thinking you seemed out of sorts.’

      ‘Me!’ cried Miss Squeers, biting her lips, and trembling with very jealousy. ‘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 your partner.’

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

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

      ‘I never had such luck, really,’ exclaimed coquettish Miss Price, after another hand or two. ‘It’s all along of you, Mr. Nickleby, I think. I should 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 Miss Price.

      ‘Not if your wish is gratified,’ replied Nicholas. ‘I am sure I shall have a good one in that case.’

      To see how Miss Squeers tossed her head, and the corn-factor flattened his nose, while this conversation was carrying on! It would have been worth a small annuity to have beheld that; let alone Miss Price’s evident joy at making them jealous, and Nicholas Nickleby’s happy unconsciousness of making anybody uncomfortable.

      ‘We have all the talking to ourselves, it seems,’ said Nicholas, looking good-humouredly round the table as he took up the cards for a fresh deal.

      ‘You do it so well,’ tittered Miss Squeers, ‘that it would be a pity to interrupt, wouldn’t it, Mr. Browdie? He! he! he!’

      ‘Nay,’ said Nicholas, ‘we do it in default of having anybody else to talk 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 say something?’

      ‘Say summat?’ repeated the Yorkshireman.

      ‘Ay, and not sit there so silent and glum.’

      ‘Weel, then!’ said the Yorkshireman, striking the table heavily with his fist, ‘what I say’s this – Dang my boans and boddy, if I stan’ this ony longer. Do ye gang whoam wi’ me, and do yon loight an’ toight young whipster look sharp out for a brokken head, next time he cums under my hond.’

      ‘Mercy on us, what’s all this?’ cried Miss Price, in affected astonishment.

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

      This state of things had been brought about by divers means and workings. Miss Squeers had brought it about, by aspiring to the high state and condition of being matrimonially engaged, without good grounds for so doing; Miss Price had brought it about, by indulging in three motives of action: first, a desire to punish her friend for laying claim to a rivalship in dignity, having no good title: secondly, the gratification of her own vanity, in receiving the compliments of a smart young man: and thirdly, a wish to convince the corn-factor of the great danger he ran, in deferring the celebration of their expected nuptials; while Nicholas had brought it about, by half an hour’s gaiety and thoughtlessness, and a very sincere desire to avoid the imputation of inclining at all to Miss Squeers. So the means employed, and the end produced, were alike the most natural in the world; for young ladies will look forward to being married, and will jostle each other in the race to the altar, and will avail themselves of all opportunities of displaying their own attractions to the best advantage, down to the very end of time, as they have done from its beginning.

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

      ‘Oh! you don’t know, miss, of course you don’t know. Pray don’t trouble yourself to inquire,’ said Miss Squeers, producing that change of countenance which children call making a face.

      ‘Well,