over themselves. In a moment they were seen
leaning back and contemplating him amusedly, as if he had been the comic
spectacle, and were laughing for a wager. There are few things so sour as
the swallowing of one's own forced laugh. Wilfrid got it down, and
commenced a lecture to fill the awkward pause. His sisters maintained the
opera-stall posture of languid attention, contesting his phrases simply
with their eyebrows, and smiling. He was no match for them while they
chose to be silent: and indeed if the business of life were conducted in
dumb show, women would beat men hollow. They posture admirably. In dumb
show they are equally good for attack and defence. But this is not the
case in speech. So, when Arabella explained that their hope was to see
Mrs. Chump go that day, owing to the rigorous exclusion of all amusement
and the outer world from the house, Wilfrid regained his superior footing
and made his lecture tell. In the middle of it, there rang a cry from the
doorway that astonished even him, it was so powerfully Irish.

"The lady you have called down is here," said Arabella's cold glance, in
answer to his.

They sat with folded hands while Wilfrid turned to Mrs. Chump, who
advanced, a shock of blue satin to the eye, crying, on a jump: "Is ut Mr.
Wilfrud?"

"It's I, ma'am." Wilfrid bowed, and the censorious ladies could not deny
that, his style was good, if his object was to be familiar. And if that
was his object, he was paid for it. A great thick kiss was planted on his
cheek, with the motto: "Harm to them that thinks ut."

Wilfrid bore the salute like a man who presumes that he is flattered.

"And it's you!" said Mrs. Chump. "I was just off. I'm packed, and
bonnutted, and ready for a start; becas, my dear, where there's none but
women, I don't think it natural to stop. You're splendud! How a little
fella like Pole could go and be father to such a mighty big son, with
your bit of moustache and your blue eyes! Are they blue or a bit of grey
in 'em?" Mrs. Chump peered closely. "They're kill'n', let their colour be
annyhow. And I that knew ye when ye were no bigger than my garter! Oh,
sir! don't talk of ut; I'll be thinkin', of my coffin. Ye're glad to see
me? Say, yes. Do!"

"Very glad," quoth Wilfrid.

"Upon your honour, now?"

"Upon my honour!"

"My dears" (Mrs. Chump turned to the ladies), "I'll stop; and just thank
your brother for't, though you can't help being garls."

Reduced once more to demo