‘You may well be surprised, Nicholas, my dear,’ she said, ‘I am sure I was. It came upon me like a flash of fire, and almost froze my blood. The bottom of his garden joins the bottom of ours, and of course I had several times seen him sitting among the scarlet-beans in his little arbour, or working at his little hot-beds. I used to think he stared rather, but I didn’t take any particular notice of that, as we were newcomers, and he might be curious to see what we were like. But when he began to throw his cucumbers over our wall—’
‘To throw his cucumbers over our wall!’ repeated Nicholas, in great astonishment.
‘Yes, Nicholas, my dear,’ replied Mrs. Nickleby in a very serious tone; ‘his cucumbers over our wall. And vegetable marrows likewise.’
‘Confound his impudence!’ said Nicholas, firing immediately. ‘What does he mean by that?’
‘I don’t think he means it impertinently at all,’ replied Mrs. Nickleby.
‘What!’ said Nicholas, ‘cucumbers and vegetable marrows flying at the heads of the family as they walk in their own garden, and not meant impertinently! Why, mother—’
Nicholas stopped short; for there was an indescribable expression of placid triumph, mingled with a modest confusion, lingering between the borders of Mrs. Nickleby’s nightcap, which arrested his attention suddenly.
‘He must be a very weak, and foolish, and inconsiderate man,’ said Mrs Nickleby; ‘blamable indeed—at least I suppose other people would consider him so; of course I can’t be expected to express any opinion on that point, especially after always defending your poor dear papa when other people blamed him for making proposals to me; and to be sure there can be no doubt that he has taken a very singular way of showing it. Still at the same time, his attentions are—that is, as far as it goes, and to a certain extent of course—a flattering sort of thing; and although I should never dream of marrying again with a dear girl like Kate still unsettled in life—’
‘Surely, mother, such an idea never entered your brain for an instant?’ said Nicholas.
‘Bless my heart, Nicholas my dear,’ returned his mother in a peevish tone, ‘isn’t that precisely what I am saying, if you would only let me speak? Of course, I never gave it a second thought, and I am surprised and astonished that you should suppose me capable of such a thing. All I say is, what step is the best to take, so as to reject these advances civilly and delicately, and without hurting his feelings too much, and driving him to despair, or anything of that kind? My goodness me!’ exclaimed Mrs Nickleby, with a half-simper, ‘suppose he was to go doing anything rash to himself. Could I ever be happy again, Nicholas?’