“Oh yes!” cried Mr. Sampson, with bitterness. “Thus it ever is. I never—”
“If you mean to say,” Miss Lavvy cut him short, “that you never brought up a young gazelle, you may save yourself the trouble, because nobody in this carriage supposes that you ever did. We know you better.” (As if this were a home-thrust.)
“Lavinia,” returned Mr. Sampson, in a dismal vein, “I did not mean to say so. What I did mean to say, was, that I never expected to retain my favoured place in this family, after Fortune shed her beams upon it. Why do you take me,” said Mr. Sampson, “to the glittering halls with which I can never compete, and then taunt me with my moderate salary? Is it generous? Is it kind?”
The stately lady, Mrs. Wilfer, perceiving her opportunity of delivering a few remarks from the throne, here took up the altercation.
“ Mr. Sampson,” she began, “I cannot permit you to misrepresent the intentions of a child of mine.”
“Let him alone, Ma,” Miss Lavvy interposed with haughtiness. “It is indifferent to me what he says or does.”
“Nay, Lavinia,” quoth Mrs. Wilfer, “this touches the blood of the family. If Mr. George Sampson attributes, even to my youngest daughter—”
(“I don’t see why you should use the word ‘even,’ Ma,” Miss Lavvy interposed, “because I am quite as important as any of the others.”)
“Peace!” said Mrs. Wilfer, solemnly. “I repeat, if Mr. George Sampson attributes, to my youngest daughter, grovelling motives, he attributes