Cadogan Place is the one slight bond that joins two great extremes;it is the connecting link between the aristocratic pavements of Belgrave Square, and the barbarism of Chelsea. It is in Sloane Street, but not of it. The people in Cadogan Place look down upon Sloane Street, and think Brompton low. They affect fashion too, and wonder where the New Road is.
Not that they claim to be on precisely the same footing as the high folks of Belgrave Square and Grosvenor Place, but that they stand, with reference to them, rather in the light of those illegitimate children of the great who are content to boast of their connections, although their connections disavow them. Wearing as much as they can of the airs and semblances of loftiest rank, the people of Cadogan Place have the realities of middle station. It is the conductor which communicates to the inhabitants of regions beyond its limit, the shock of pride of birth and rank, which it has not within itself, but derives from a fountain-head beyond; or, like the ligament which unites the Siamese twins, it contains something of the life and essence of two distinct bodies, and yet belongs to neither.
Upon this doubtful ground, lived Mrs Wititterly, and at Mrs Wititterly's door Kate Nickleby knocked with trembling hand. The door was opened by a big footman with his head floured, or chalked, or painted in some way (it didn't look genuine powder), and the big footman, receiving the card of introduction, gave it to a little page; so little, indeed, that his body would not hold, in ordinary array, the number of small buttons which are indispensable to a page's costume, and they were consequently obliged to be stuck on four abreast. This young gentleman took the card upstairs on a salver, and pending his return, Kate and her mother were shown into a dining-room of rather dirty and shabby aspect, and so comfortably arranged as to be adapted to almost any purpose rather than eating and drinking.
Now, in the ordinary course of things, and according to all authentic descriptions of high life, as set forth in books, Mrs Wititterly ought to have been in her boudoir ; but whether it was that Mr Wititterly was at that moment shaving himself in the boudoir or what not, certain it is that Mrs Wititterly gave audience in the drawing-room, where was everything proper and necessary, including curtains and furniture coverings of a roseate hue, to shed a delicate bloom on Mrs Wititterly's complexion, and a little dog to snap at strangers' legs for Mrs Wititterly's amusement, and the afore-mentioned page, to hand chocolate for Mrs Wititterly's refreshment.
The lady had an air of sweet insipidity, and a face of engaging paleness;there was a faded look about her, and about the furniture, and about the house. She was reclining on a sofa in such a very unstudied attitude, that she might have been taken for an actress all ready for the first scene in a ballet, and only waiting for the drop curtain to go up.
`Place chairs.'
The page placed them.
`Leave the room, Alphonse.'
The page left it; but if ever an Alphonse carried plain Bill in his face and figure, that page was the boy.
`I have ventured to call, ma'am,' said Kate, after a few seconds of awkward silence, `from having seen your advertisement.'
`Yes,' replied Mrs Wititterly, `one of my people put it in the paper--Yes.'
`I thought, perhaps,' said Kate, modestly, `that if you had not already made a final choice, you would forgive my troubling you with an application.'
`Yes,' drawled Mrs Wititterly again.
`If you have already made a selection--'
`Oh dear no,' interrupted the lady, `I am not so easily suited. I really don't know what to say. You have never been a companion before, have you?'
Mrs Nickleby, who had been eagerly watching her opportunity, came dexterously in, before Kate could reply. `Not to any stranger, ma'am,' said the good lady; `but she has been a companion to me for some years. I am her mother, ma'am.'
`Oh!' said Mrs Wititterly, `I apprehend you.'
`I assure you, ma'am,' said Mrs Nickleby, `that I very little thought, at one time, that it would be necessary for my daughter to go out into the world at all, for her poor dear papa was an independent gentleman, and would have been at this moment if he had but listened in time to my constant entreaties and--'
`Dear mamma,' said Kate, in a low voice.
`My dear Kate, if you will allow me to speak,' said Mrs Nickleby, `Ishall take the liberty of explaining to this lady--'
`I think it is almost unnecessary, mamma.'
And notwithstanding all the frowns and winks with which Mrs Nickleby intimated that she was going to say something which would clench the business at once, Kate maintained her point by an expressive look, and for once Mrs Nickleby was stopped upon the very brink of an oration.
`What are your accomplishments?' asked Mrs Wititterly, with her eyes shut.
Kate blushed as she mentioned her principal acquirements, and Mrs Nickleby checked them all off, one by one, on her fingers; having calculated the number before she came out. Luckily the two calculations agreed, so Mrs Nickleby had no excuse for talking.
`You are a good temper?' asked Mrs Wititterly, opening her eyes for an instant, and shutting them again.
`I hope so,' rejoined Kate.
`And have a highly respectable reference for everything, have you?'
Kate replied that she had, and laid her uncle's card upon the table.
`Have the goodness to draw your chair a little nearer, and let me look at you,' said Mrs Wititterly; `I am so very nearsighted that I can't quite discern your features.'