“I wish to goodness, Ma,” said Lavvy, throwing herself back among the cushions, with her arms crossed, “that you’d loll a little.”

“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.”