'Alfred,' cried his wife, flinging her arms about him, 'I didn't mean to
say it, I didn't mean to say it!'

'Ruined!' cried Mr Mantalini. 'Have I brought ruin upon the best and
purest creature that ever blessed a demnition vagabond! Demmit, let
me go.' At this crisis of his ravings Mr Mantalini made a pluck at the
breakfast knife, and being restrained by his wife's grasp, attempted to
dash his head against the wall--taking very good care to be at least six
feet from it.

'Compose yourself, my own angel,' said Madame. 'It was nobody's fault;
it was mine as much as yours, we shall do very well yet. Come, Alfred,
come.'

Mr Mantalini did not think proper to come to, all at once; but, after
calling several times for poison, and requesting some lady or gentleman
to blow his brains out, gentler feelings came upon him, and he wept
pathetically. In this softened frame of mind he did not oppose the
capture of the knife--which, to tell the truth, he was rather glad to be
rid of, as an inconvenient and dangerous article for a skirt pocket--and
finally he suffered himself to be led away by his affectionate partner.

After a delay of two or three hours, the young ladies were informed that
their services would be dispensed with until further notice, and at the
expiration of two days, the name of Mantalini appeared in the list of
bankrupts: Miss Nickleby received an intimation per post, on the same
morning, that the business would be, in future, carried on under
the name of Miss Knag, and that her assistance would no longer be
required--a piece of intelligence with which Mrs Nickleby was no sooner