monotonous Act of Parliament tone, and waving her hand.
'I think your father will admit it to be documentary proof of what I
tell him. I believe your father is acquainted with his daughter Bella's
writing. But I do not know. He may tell you he is not. Nothing will
surprise me.'

'Posted at Greenwich, and dated this morning,' said the Irrepressible,
flouncing at her father in handing him the evidence. 'Hopes Ma won't be
angry, but is happily married to Mr John Rokesmith, and didn't mention
it beforehand to avoid words, and please tell darling you, and love
to me, and I should like to know what you'd have said if any other
unmarried member of the family had done it!'

He read the letter, and faintly exclaimed 'Dear me!'

'You may well say Dear me!' rejoined Mrs Wilfer, in a deep tone. Upon
which encouragement he said it again, though scarcely with the success
he had expected; for the scornful lady then remarked, with extreme
bitterness: 'You said that before.'

'It's very surprising. But I suppose, my dear,' hinted the cherub, as he
folded the letter after a disconcerting silence, 'that we must make the
best of it? Would you object to my pointing out, my dear, that Mr
John Rokesmith is not (so far as I am acquainted with him), strictly
speaking, a Mendicant.'

'Indeed?' returned Mrs Wilfer, with an awful air of politeness. 'Truly
so? I was not aware that Mr John Rokesmith was a gentleman of landed
property. But I am much relieved to hear it.'

'I doubt if you HAVE heard it, my dear,' the cherub submitted with
hesitation.

'Thank you,' said Mrs Wilfer. 'I make false statements, it appears? So
be it. If my daughter flies in my face, surely my husband may. The one
thing is not more unnatural than the other. There seems a fitness in the
arrangement. By all means!' Assuming, with a shiver of resignation, a
deadly cheerfulness.

But, here the Irrepressible skirmished into the conflict, dragging the
reluctant form of Mr Sampson after her.

'Ma,' interposed the young lady, 'I must say I think it would be much
better if you would keep to the point, and not hold forth about
people's flying into people's faces, which is nothing more nor less than
impossible nonsense.'

'How!' exclaimed Mrs Wilfer, knitting her dark brows.

'Just im-possible nonsense, Ma,' returned Lavvy, 'and George Sampson
knows it is, as well as I do.'

Mrs Wilfer suddenly becoming petrified, fixed her indignant eyes upon
the wretched George: who,