made reproachful mention as an article of luxury which her husband had set up entirely on his own account, and in direct opposition to her advice: “—your daughter Bella has bestowed herself upon a Mendicant.”
“Good gracious, my dear!”
“Show your father his daughter Bella’s letter, Lavinia,” said Mrs. Wilfer, in her monotonous Act of Parliament tone, and waving her hand. “I think your father will admit it to be documentary proof of what I tell him. I believe your father is acquainted with his daughter Bella’s writing. But I do not know. He may tell you he is not. Nothing will surprise me.”
“Posted at Greenwich, and dated this morning,” said the Irrepressible, flouncing at her father in handing him the evidence. “Hopes Ma won’t be angry, but is happily married to Mr. John Rokesmith, and didn’t mention it beforehand to avoid words, and please tell darling you, and love to me, and I should like to know what you’d have said if any other unmarried member of the family had done it!”
He read the letter, and faintly exclaimed “Dear me!”
“You may well say Dear me!” rejoined Mrs. Wilfer, in a deep tone. Upon which encouragement he said it again, though scarcely with the success he had expected; for the scornful lady then remarked, with extreme bitterness: “You said that before.”
“It’s very surprising. But I suppose, my dear,” hinted the cherub, as he folded the letter after a disconcerting silence, “that we must make the best of it? Would you object to my pointing out, my dear, that Mr. John Rokesmith is not (so far as I am acquainted with him), strictly speaking, a Mendicant.”
“Indeed?” returned Mrs. Wilfer, with an awful air of politeness. “Truly so? I was not aware that Mr. John Rokesmith was a gentleman of landed property. But I am much relieved to hear it.”