Have the goodness, Mr Rokesmith, to give my love to Mrs Boffin--' 'Pardon me!' cried Mrs Wilfer.

'Compliments.' 'Love!' repeated Bella, with a little stamp of her foot.
'No!' said Mrs Wilfer, monotonously.

'Compliments.' ('Say Miss Wilfer's love, and Mrs Wilfer's compliments,' the Secretary proposed, as a compromise.) 'And I shall be very glad to come when she is ready for me.

The sooner, the better.' 'One last word, Bella,' said Mrs Wilfer, 'before descending to the family apartment.

I trust that as a child of mine you will ever be sensible that it will be graceful in you, when associating with Mr and Mrs Boffin upon equal terms, to remember that the Secretary, Mr Rokesmith, as your father's lodger, has a claim on your good word.' The condescension with which Mrs Wilfer delivered this proclamation of patronage, was as wonderful as the swiftness with which the lodger had lost caste in the Secretary.