“Nothing is too noble, dearest George,” returned Lavinia. “And Pa, I hope you will be careful not to refer before Bella, if you can help it, to my engagement to George. It might seem like reminding her of her having cast herself away. And I hope, Pa, that you will think it equally right to avoid mentioning George’s rising prospects, when Bella is present. It might seem like taunting her with her own poor fortunes. Let me ever remember that I am her younger sister, and ever spare her painful contrasts, which could not but wound her sharply.”

Mr. Sampson expressed his belief that such was the demeanour of Angels. Miss Lavvy replied with solemnity, “No, dearest George, I am but too well aware that I am merely human.”

Mrs. Wilfer, for her part, still further improved the occasion by sitting with her eyes fastened on her husband, like two great black notes of interrogation, severely inquiring, Are you looking into your breast? Do you deserve your blessings? Can you lay your hand upon your heart and say that you are worthy of so hysterical a daughter? I do not ask you if you are worthy of such a wife — put Me out of the question — but are you sufficiently conscious of, and thankful for, the pervading moral grandeur of the family spectacle on which you are gazing? These inquiries proved very harassing to R. W. who, besides being a little disturbed by wine, was in perpetual terror of committing himself by the utterance of stray words that would betray his guilty foreknowledge. However, the scene being over, and — all things considered — well over, he sought refuge in a doze; which gave his lady immense offence.

“Can you think of your daughter Bella, and sleep?” she disdainfully inquired.

To which he mildly answered, “Yes, I think I can, my dear.”

“Then,” said Mrs. Wilfer, with solemn indignation, “I would recommend you, if you have a human feeling, to retire to bed.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied; “I think it is the best place for me.” And with these unsympathetic words very gladly withdrew.

Within a few weeks afterwards, the Mendicant’s bride (arm-in-arm with the Mendicant) came to tea, in fulfilment of an engagement made through her father. And the way in which the Mendicant’s bride dashed at the unassailable position so considerately to be held by Miss Lavvy, and scattered the whole of the works in all directions in a moment, was triumphant.

“Dearest Ma,” cried Bella, running into the room with a radiant face, “how do you do, dearest Ma?” And then embraced her, joyously. “And Lavvy darling, how do you do, and how’s George Sampson, and how is he getting on, and when are you going to be married, and how rich are you going to grow? You must tell me all about it, Lavvy dear, immediately. John, love, kiss Ma and Lavvy, and then we shall all be at home and comfortable.”

Mrs. Wilfer stared, but was helpless. Miss Lavinia stared, but was helpless. Apparently with no compunction, and assuredly with no ceremony, Bella tossed her bonnet away, and sat down to make the tea.

“Dearest Ma and Lavvy, you both take sugar, I know. And Pa (you good little Pa), you don’t take milk. John does. I didn’t before I was married; but I do now, because John does. John dear, did you kiss Ma and Lavvy? Oh, you did! Quite correct, John dear; but I didn’t see you do it, so I asked. Cut some bread and butter, John; that’s a love. Ma likes it doubled. And now you must tell me, dearest Ma and Lavvy, upon your words and honours! Didn’t you for a moment — just a moment — think I was a dreadful little wretch when I wrote to say I had run away?”

Before Mrs. Wilfer could wave her gloves, the Mendicant’s bride in her merriest affectionate manner went on again.