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‘They are very distinguished people, evidently,’ said Mrs
Nickleby, as she took her daughter’s arm. ‘What a superior person
Mrs Wititterly is!’
‘Do you think so, mama?’ was all Kate’s reply.
‘Why, who can help thinking so, Kate, my love?’ rejoined her
mother. ‘She is pale though, and looks much exhausted. I hope she
may not be wearing herself out, but I am very much afraid.’
These considerations led the deep-sighted lady into a
calculation of the probable duration of Mrs Wititterly’s life, and
the chances of the disconsolate widower bestowing his hand on
her daughter. Before reaching home, she had freed Mrs
Wititterly’s soul from all bodily restraint; married Kate with great
splendour at St George’s, Hanover Square; and only left
undecided the minor question, whether a splendid French-
polished mahogany bedstead should be erected for herself in the
two-pair back of the house in Cadogan Place, or in the three-pair
front: between which apartments she could not quite balance the
advantages, and therefore adjusted the question at last, by
determining to leave it to the decision of her son-in-law.
The inquiries were made. The answer--not to Kate’s very great
joy--was favourable; and at the expiration of a week she betook
herself, with all her movables and valuables, to Mrs Wititterly’s
mansion, where for the present we will leave her.