 Newman,« said Nicholas, laying his hand upon his shoulder: »it was
the wrong servant too.«
    Newman's under-jaw dropped, and he gazed at Nicholas, with his sound eye
fixed fast and motionless in his head.
    »Don't take it to heart,« said Nicholas; »it's of no consequence; you see I
don't care about it; you followed the wrong person, that's all.«
    That was all. Whether Newman Noggs had looked round the pump, in a slanting
direction, so long, that his sight became impaired; or whether, finding that
there was time to spare, he had recruited himself with a few drops of something
stronger than the pump could yield - by whatsoever means it had come to pass,
this was his mistake. And Nicholas went home to brood upon it, and to meditate
upon the charms of the unknown young lady, now as far beyond his reach as ever.
 

                                  Chapter XLI

Containing Some Romantic Passages Between Mrs. Nickleby and The Gentleman in the
                            Small-Clothes Next Door.

Ever since her last momentous conversation with her son, Mrs. Nickleby had begun
to display unusual care in the adornment of her person, gradually superadding to
those staid and matronly habiliments which had, up to that time, formed her
ordinary attire, a variety of embellishments and decorations, slight perhaps in
themselves, but, taken together, and considered with reference to the subject of
her disclosure, of no mean importance. Even her black dress assumed something of
a deadly-lively air from the jaunty style in which it was worn; and, eked out as
its lingering attractions were, by a prudent disposal, here and there, of
certain juvenile ornaments of little or no value, which had, for that reason
alone, escaped the general wreck and been permitted to slumber peacefully in odd
corners of old drawers and boxes where daylight seldom shone, her mourning
garments assumed quite a new character. From being the outward tokens of respect
and sorrow for the dead, they became converted into signals of very slaughterous
and killing designs upon the living.
    Mrs. Nickleby might have been stimulated to this proceeding by a lofty sense
of duty, and impulses of unquestionable excellence. She might, by this time,
have become impressed with the sinfulness of long indulgence in unavailing woe,
or the necessity of setting a proper example of neatness and decorum to her
blooming daughter. Considerations of duty and responsibility apart, the change
might have taken its rise in feelings of the purest and most disinterested
charity. The gentleman next door had been
