Nickleby. 'It is a great blessing to me, in my misfortunes, to have a
child, who knows neither pride nor vanity, and whose bringing-up might
very well have excused a little of both at first. You don't know what it
is to lose a husband, Miss Knag.'

As Miss Knag had never yet known what it was to gain one, it followed,
very nearly as a matter of course, that she didn't know what it was to
lose one; so she said, in some haste, 'No, indeed I don't,' and said it
with an air intending to signify that she should like to catch herself
marrying anybody--no, no, she knew better than that.

'Kate has improved even in this little time, I have no doubt,' said Mrs
Nickleby, glancing proudly at her daughter.

'Oh! of course,' said Miss Knag.

'And will improve still more,' added Mrs Nickleby.

'That she will, I'll be bound,' replied Miss Knag, squeezing Kate's arm
in her own, to point the joke.

'She always was clever,' said poor Mrs Nickleby, brightening up,
'always, from a baby. I recollect when she was only two years and a
half old, that a gentleman who used to visit very much at our house--Mr
Watkins, you know, Kate, my dear, that your poor papa went bail for,
who afterwards ran away to the United States, and sent us a pair of
snow shoes, with such an affectionate letter that it made your poor dear
father cry for a week. You remember the letter? In which he said that he
was very sorry he couldn't repay the fifty pounds just then, because
his capital was all out at interest, and he was very busy making his