several lures thrown out, and neither of them had uttered a word. Here were she, Mrs. Lammle, and her husband discoursing at once affectingly and effectively, but discoursing alone. Assuming that the dear old creatures were impressed by what they heard, still one would like to be sure of it, the more so, as at least one of the dear old creatures was somewhat pointedly referred to. If the dear old creatures were too bashful or too dull to assume their required places in the discussion, why then it would seem desirable that the dear old creatures should be taken by their heads and shoulders and brought into it.
“But is not my husband saying in effect,” asked Mrs. Lammle, therefore, with an innocent air, of Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, “that he becomes unmindful of his own temporary misfortunes in his admiration of another whom he is burning to serve? And is not that making an admission that his nature is a generous one? I am wretched in argument, but surely this is so, dear Mr. and Mrs. Boffin?”
Still, neither Mr. and Mrs. Boffin said a word. He sat with his eyes on his plate, eating his muffins and ham, and she sat shyly looking at the teapot. Mrs. Lammle’s innocent appeal was merely thrown into the air, to mingle with the steam of the urn. Glancing towards Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, she very slightly raised her eyebrows, as though inquiring of her husband: “Do I notice anything wrong here?”
Mr. Lammle, who had found his chest effective on a variety of occasions, manoeuvred his capacious shirt front into the largest demonstration possible, and then smiling retorted on his wife, thus:
“Sophronia, darling, Mr. and Mrs. Boffin will remind you of the old adage, that self-praise is no recommendation.”
“Self-praise, Alfred? Do you mean because we are one and the same?”
“No, my dear child. I mean that you cannot fail to remember, if you reflect for a single moment, that what you are pleased to compliment me