upon feeling in the case of Mr. Boffin, you have yourself confided to me as your own feeling in the case of Mrs. Boffin.”
(“I shall be beaten by this lawyer,” Mrs. Lammle gaily whispered to Mrs. Boffin. “I am afraid I must admit it, if he presses me, for it’s damagingly true.”)
Several white dints began to come and go about Mr. Lammle’s nose, as he observed that Mrs. Boffin merely looked up from the teapot for a moment with an embarrassed smile, which was no smile, and then looked down again.
“Do you admit the charge, Sophronia?” inquired Alfred, in a rallying tone.
“Really, I think,” said Mrs. Lammle, still gaily, “I must throw myself on the protection of the Court. Am I bound to answer that question, my Lord?” To Mr. Boffin.
“You needn’t, if you don’t like, ma’am,” was his answer. “It’s not of the least consequence.”
Both husband and wife glanced at him, very doubtfully. His manner was grave, but not coarse, and derived some dignity from a certain repressed dislike of the tone of the conversation.
Again Mrs. Lammle raised her eyebrows for instruction from her husband. He replied in a slight nod, “Try ’em again.”
“To protect myself against the suspicion of covert self-laudation, my dear Mrs. Boffin,” said the airy Mrs. Lammle therefore, “I must tell you how it was.”
“No. Pray don’t,” Mr. Boffin interposed.
Mrs. Lammle turned to him laughingly. “The Court objects?”