`We promised Sir Mulberry and Lord Frederick,' said Pyke, `that we'd call this morning and inquire whether you took any cold last night.'

`Not the least in the world last night, sir,' replied Mrs Nickleby, `with many thanks to his lordship and Sir Mulberry for doing me the honour to inquire; not the least--which is the more singular, as I really am very subject to colds, indeed--very subject. I had a cold once,' said Mrs Nickleby, `I think it was in the year eighteen hundred and seventeen; let me see, four and five are nine, and--yes, eighteen hundred and seventeen, that I thought I never should get rid of; actually and seriously, that I thought I never should get rid of. I was only cured at last by a remedy that I don't know whether you ever happened to hear of, Mr Pluck. You have a gallon of water as hot as you can possibly bear it, with a pound of salt, and sixpen'orth of the finest bran, and sit with your head in it for twenty minutes every night just before going to bed; at least, I don't mean your head--your feet. It's a most extraordinary cure--a most extraordinary cure. I used it for the first time, I recollect, the day after Christmas Day, and by the middle of April following the cold was gone. It seems quite a miracle when you come to think of it, for I had it ever since the beginning of September.'

`What an afflicting calamity!' said Mr Pyke.

`Perfectly horrid!' exclaimed Mr Pluck.

`But it's worth the pain of hearing, only to know that Mrs Nickleby recovered it, isn't it, Pluck?' cried Mr Pyke.

`That is the circumstance which gives it such a thrilling interest,' replied Mr Pluck.

`But come,' said Pyke, as if suddenly recollecting himself; `we must not forget our mission in the pleasure of this interview. We come on a mission, Mrs Nickleby.'

`On a mission,' exclaimed that good lady, to whose mind a definite proposal of marriage for Kate at once presented itself in lively colours.

`From Sir Mulberry,' replied Pyke. `You must be very dull here.'

`Rather dull, I confess,' said Mrs Nickleby.

`We bring the compliments of Sir Mulberry Hawk, and a thousand entreaties that you'll take a seat in a private box at the play tonight,' said Mr Pluck.

`Oh dear!' said Mrs Nickleby, `I never go out at all, never.'

`And that is the very reason, my dear Mrs Nickleby, why you should go out tonight,' retorted Mr Pluck. `Pyke, entreat Mrs Nickleby.'

`Oh, pray do,' said Pyke.

`You positively must,' urged Pluck.

`You are very kind,' said Mrs Nickleby, hesitating; `but--'

`There's not a but in the case, my dear Mrs Nickleby,' remonstrated Mr Pluck; `not such a word in the vocabulary. Your brother-in-law joins us, Lord Frederick joins us, Sir Mulberry joins us, Pyke joins us-- a refusal is out of the question. Sir Mulberry sends a carriage for you--twenty minutes before seven to the moment-- you'll not be so cruel as to disappoint the whole party, Mrs Nickleby?'

`You are so very pressing, that I scarcely know what to say,' replied the worthy lady.