“My youngest daughter, Lavinia,” said Mrs. Wilfer, glad to make a diversion, as that young lady reappeared. “ Mr. George Sampson, a friend of the family.”
The friend of the family was in that stage of tender passion which bound him to regard everybody else as the foe of the family. He put the round head of his cane in his mouth, like a stopper, when he sat down. As if he felt himself full to the throat with affronting sentiments. And he eyed the Boffins with implacable eyes.
“If you like to bring your sister with you when you come to stay with us,” said Mrs. Boffin, “of course we shall be glad. The better you please yourself, Miss Bella, the better you’ll please us.”
“Oh, my consent is of no consequence at all, I suppose?” cried Miss Lavinia.
“Lavvy,” said her sister, in a low voice, “have the goodness to be seen and not heard.”
“No, I won’t,” replied the sharp Lavinia. “I’m not a child, to be taken notice of by strangers.”
“You are a child.”
“I’m not a child, and I won’t be taken notice of. ‘Bring your sister,’ indeed!”
“Lavinia!” said Mrs. Wilfer. “Hold! I will not allow you to utter in my presence the absurd suspicion that any strangers—I care not what their names—can patronize my child. Do you dare to suppose, you ridiculous girl, that Mr. and Mrs. Boffin would enter these doors upon a