“How!” repeated Mrs. Wilfer. “Loll!”
“Yes, Ma.”
“I hope,” said the impressive lady, “I am incapable of it.”
“I am sure you look so, Ma. But why one should go out to dine with one’s own daughter or sister, as if one’s under-petticoat was a backboard, I do not understand.”
“Neither do I understand,” retorted Mrs. Wilfer, with deep scorn, “how a young lady can mention the garment in the name of which you have indulged. I blush for you.”
“Thank you, Ma,” said Lavvy, yawning, “but I can do it for myself, I am obliged to you, when there’s any occasion.”
Here, Mr. Sampson, with the view of establishing harmony, which he never under any circumstances succeeded in doing, said with an agreeable smile: “After all, you know, ma’am, we know it’s there.” And immediately felt that he