t do YOU mean, mother?' asked Nicholas, smiling.

'I say, my dear,' rejoined that lady, with a face of unfathomable
mystery, 'what does this invitation to dinner mean? What is its
intention and object?'

'I conclude it means, that on such a day we are to eat and drink in
their house, and that its intent and object is to confer pleasure upon
us,' said Nicholas.

'And that's all you conclude it is, my dear?'

'I have not yet arrived at anything deeper, mother.'

'Then I'll just tell you one thing,' said Mrs Nickleby, you'll find
yourself a little surprised; that's all. You may depend upon it that
this means something besides dinner.'

'Tea and supper, perhaps,' suggested Nicholas.

'I wouldn't be absurd, my dear, if I were you,' replied Mrs Nickleby,
in a lofty manner, 'because it's not by any means becoming, and doesn't
suit you at all. What I mean to say is, that the Mr Cheerybles don't ask
us to dinner with all this ceremony for nothing. Never mind; wait and
see. You won't believe anything I say, of course. It's much better to
wait; a great deal better; it's satisfactory to all parties, and there
can be no disputing. All I say is, remember what I say now, and when I
say I said so, don't say I didn't.'

With this stipulation, Mrs Nickleby, who was troubled, night and day,
with a vision of a hot messenger tearing up to the door to announce that
Nicholas had been taken into partnership, quitted that branch of the
subject, and entered upon a new one.

'It's a very extraordinary thing,' she said, 'a most extraordinary
thing, that they should have invited Miss La Creevy. It quite astonishes
me, upon my word it does. Of course it's very pleasant that she should
be invited, very pleasant, and I have no doubt that she'll conduct
herself extremely well; she always does. It's very gratifying to think
that we should have been the means of introducing her into such society,
and I'm quite glad of it--quite rejoiced--for she certainly is an
exceedingly well-behaved and good-natured little person. I could wish
that some friend would mention to her how very badly she has her cap
trimmed, and what very preposterous bows those are, but of course that's
impossible, and if she likes to make a fright of herself, no doubt she
has a perfect right to do so. We never see ourselves--never do, and
never did--and I suppose we never shall.'

This moral reflection reminding her of the necessity of being peculiarly
smart on the occasion,