Lavinia had speculated much on the probabilities and improbabilities of her coming in this gorgeous state, and, on beholding the chariot from the window at which they were secreted to look out for it, agreed that it must be detained at the door as long as possible, for the mortification and confusion of the neighbours. Then they repaired to the usual family room, to receive Miss Bella with a becoming show of indifference.
The family room looked very small and very mean, and the downward staircase by which it was attained looked very narrow and very crooked. The little house and all its arrangements were a poor contrast to the eminently aristocratic dwelling. “I can hardly believe,” thought Bella, “that I ever did endure life in this place!”
Gloomy majesty on the part of Mrs. Wilfer, and native pertness on the part of Lavvy, did not mend the matter. Bella really stood in natural need of a little help, and she got none.
“This,” said Mrs. Wilfer, presenting a cheek to be kissed, as sympathetic and responsive as the back of the bowl of a spoon, “is quite an honour! You will probably find your sister Lavvy grown, Bella.”
“Ma,” Miss Lavinia interposed, “there can be no objection to your being aggravating, because Bella richly deserves it; but I really must request that you will not drag in such ridiculous nonsense as my having grown when I am past the growing age.”
“I grew, myself,” Mrs. Wilfer sternly proclaimed, “after I was married.”
“Very well, Ma,” returned Lavvy, “then I think you had much better have left it alone.”
The lofty glare with which the majestic woman received this answer, might have embarrassed a less pert opponent, but it had no effect upon