Bella helped him with his supplemental cookery, and made him very happy, but put him in mortal terror too by asking him when they sat down at table again, how he supposed they cooked fowls at the Greenwich dinners, and whether he believed they really were such pleasant dinners as people said? His secret winks and nods of remonstrance, in reply, made the mischievous Bella laugh until she choked, and then Lavinia was obliged to slap her on the back, and then she laughed the more.

But her mother was a fine corrective at the other end of the table; to whom her father, in the innocence of his good-fellowship, at intervals appealed with: “My dear, I am afraid you are not enjoying yourself?”

“Why so, R. W. ?” she would sonorously reply.

“Because, my dear, you seem a little out of sorts.”

“Not at all,” would be the rejoinder, in exactly the same tone.