younder baboon, perhaps lasts the longest, as it originates in the greater blindness and is fed by vanity. Meantime the fools bring grist to my mill, so let them live out their day, and the longer it is, the better.'

These agreeable reflections occurred to Ralph Nickleby, as sundry small caresses and endearments, supposed to be unseen, were exchanged between the objects of his thoughts.

`If you have nothing more to say, my dear, to Mr Nickleby,' said Madame Mantalini, `we will take our leaves. I am sure we have detained him much too long already.'

Mr Mantalini answered, in the first instance, by tapping Madame Mantalini several times on the nose, and then, by remarking in words that he had nothing more to say.

`Demmit! I have, though,' he added almost immediately, drawing Ralph into a corner. `Here's an affair about your friend Sir Mulberry. Such a demd extraordinary out-of-the-way kind of thing as never was-- eh?'

`What do you mean?' asked Ralph.

`Don't you know, demmit?' asked Mr Mantalini.

`I see by the paper that he was thrown from his cabriolet last night, and severely injured, and that his life is in some danger,' answered Ralph with great composure; `but I see nothing extraordinary in that-- accidents are not miraculous events, when men live hard, and drive after dinner.'

`Whew!' cried Mr Mantalini in a long shrill whistle. `Then don't you know how it was?'

`Not unless it was as I have just supposed,' replied Ralph, shrugging his shoulders carelessly, as if to give his questioner to understand that he had no curiosity upon the subject.

`Demmit, you amaze me,' cried Mantalini.

Ralph shrugged his shoulders again, as if it were no great feat to amaze Mr Mantalini, and cast a wistful glance at the face of Newman Noggs, which had several times appeared behind a couple of panes of glass in the room-door; it being a part of Newman's duty, when unimportant people called, to make various feints of supposing that the bell had rung for him to show them out: by way of a gentle hint to such visitors that it was time to go.

`Don't you know,' said Mr Mantalini, taking Ralph by the button, `that it wasn't an accident at all, but a demd, furious, manslaughtering attack made upon him by your nephew?'

`What!' snarled Ralph, clenching his fists and turning a livid white.

`Demmit, Nickleby, you're as great a tiger as he is,' said Mantalini, alarmed at these demonstrations.

`Go on,' cried Ralph. `Tell me what you mean. What is this story? Who told you? Speak,' growled Ralph. `Do you hear me?'

`'Gad, Nickleby,' said Mr Mantalini, retreating towards his wife, `what a demneble fierce old evil genius you are! You're enough to frighten the life and soul out of her little delicious wits--flying all at once into such a blazing, ravaging, raging passion as never was, demmit!'

`Pshaw,' rejoined Ralph, forcing a smile. `It is but manner.'

`It is a demd uncomfortable, private-madhouse sort of a manner,' said Mr Mantalini, picking up his cane.

Ralph affected to smile, and once more inquired from whom Mr Mantalini had derived his information.