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.”