‘No, but I must beg you as a favour,’ said Madame Mantalini, ‘to hear me give him notice of what it is my fixed intention to do—my fixed intention, sir,’ repeated Madame Mantalini, darting an angry look at her husband.
‘Will she call me “Sir”?’ cried Mantalini. ‘Me who dote upon her with the demdest ardour! She, who coils her fascinations round me like a pure angelic rattlesnake! It will be all up with my feelings; she will throw me into a demd state.’
‘Don’t talk of feelings, sir,’ rejoined Madame Mantalini, seating herself, and turning her back upon him. ‘You don’t consider mine.’
‘I do not consider yours, my soul!’ exclaimed Mr. Mantalini.
‘No,’ replied his wife.
And notwithstanding various blandishments on the part of Mr. Mantalini, Madame Mantalini still said no, and said it too with such determined and resolute ill-temper, that Mr. Mantalini was clearly taken aback.
‘His extravagance, Mr. Nickleby,’ said Madame Mantalini, addressing herself to Ralph, who leant against his easy-chair with his hands behind him, and regarded the amiable couple with a smile of the supremest and most unmitigated contempt,—‘his extravagance is beyond all bounds.’
‘I should scarcely have supposed it,’ answered Ralph, sarcastically.
‘I assure you, Mr. Nickleby, however, that it is,’ returned Madame Mantalini. ‘It makes me miserable! I am under constant apprehensions, and in constant difficulty. And even this,’ said Madame Mantalini, wiping her eyes, ‘is not the worst. He took some papers of value out of my desk this morning without asking my permission.’
Mr. Mantalini groaned slightly, and buttoned his trousers pocket.