“To be sure, my dear,” he returned, with a most flagrant assumption of unconsciousness, “I did omit it. How⁠—or perhaps I should rather say where⁠— is Bella?”

“Not here,” Mrs. Wilfer proclaimed, with folded arms.

The cherub faintly muttered something to the abortive effect of “Oh, indeed, my dear!”

“Not here,” repeated Mrs. Wilfer, in a stern sonorous voice. “In a word, R. W. , you have no daughter Bella.”

“No daughter Bella, my dear?”