‘Of little consequence!’ exclaimed Mr. Pluck. ‘Pyke, of what consequence to our friend, Sir Mulberry, is the good opinion of Mrs. Nickleby?’
‘Of what consequence?’ echoed Pyke.
‘Ay,’ repeated Pluck; ‘is it of the greatest consequence?’
‘Of the very greatest consequence,’ replied Pyke.
‘Mrs. Nickleby cannot be ignorant,’ said Mr. Pluck, ‘of the immense impression which that sweet girl has—’
‘Pluck!’ said his friend, ‘beware!’
‘Pyke is right,’ muttered Mr. Pluck, after a short pause; ‘I was not to mention it. Pyke is very right. Thank you, Pyke.’
‘Well now, really,’ thought Mrs. Nickleby within herself. ‘Such delicacy as that, I never saw!’
Mr. Pluck, after feigning to be in a condition of great embarrassment for some minutes, resumed the conversation by entreating Mrs. Nickleby to take no heed of what he had inadvertently said—to consider him imprudent, rash, injudicious. The only stipulation he would make in his own favour was, that she should give him credit for the best intentions.
‘But when,’ said Mr. Pluck, ‘when I see so much sweetness and beauty on the one hand, and so much ardour and devotion on the other, I—pardon me, Pyke, I didn’t intend to resume that theme. Change the subject, Pyke.’