'I can't help it,' cried Mrs Nickleby. 'I know you have been very good
to us, and meant to do a good deal for my dear daughter. I am quite sure
of that; I know you did, and it was very kind of you, having her at your
house and all--and of course it would have been a great thing for her
and for me too. But I can't, you know, brother-in-law, I can't renounce
my own son, even if he has done all you say he has--it's not possible;
I couldn't do it; so we must go to rack and ruin, Kate, my dear. I can
bear it, I dare say.' Pouring forth these and a perfectly wonderful
train of other disjointed expressions of regret, which no mortal power
but Mrs Nickleby's could ever have strung together, that lady wrung her
hands, and her tears fell faster.

'Why do you say "IF Nicholas has done what they say he has," mama?'
asked Kate, with honest anger. 'You know he has not.'

'I don't know what to think, one way or other, my dear,' said Mrs
Nickleby; 'Nicholas is so violent, and your uncle has so much composure,
that I can only hear what he says, and not what Nicholas does. Never
mind, don't let us talk any more about it. We can go to the Workhouse,
or the Refuge for the Destitute, or the Magdalen Hospital, I dare say;
and the sooner we go the better.' With this extraordinary jumble of
charitable institutions, Mrs Nickleby again gave way to her tears.

'Stay,' said Nicholas, as Ralph turned to go. 'You need not leave this
place, sir, for it will be relieved of my presence in one minute, and it
will be long, very long, before I darken these doors again.'

'Nicholas,' cried Kate, throwing herself on her brother's shoulder, 'do
not say so. My dear brother, you will break my heart. Mama, speak to
him. Do not mind her, Nicholas; she does not mean it, you should know