'I am a fool, Trichy, I do confess it; and am not a bit clever; but
don't scold me; you see how humble I am; not only humble but umble,
which I look upon to be the comparative, or, indeed, superlative
degree. Or perhaps there are four degrees; humble, umble, stumble,
tumble; and then, when one is absolutely in the dirt at their feet,
perhaps these big people won't wish one to stoop any further.'

'Oh, Mary!'

'And, oh, Trichy! you don't mean to say I mayn't speak out before you.
There, perhaps you'd like to put your foot on my neck.' And then she
put her head down to the footstool and kissed Beatrice's feet.

'I'd like, if I dared, to put my hand on your cheek and give you a good
slap for being such a goose.'

'Do; do, Trichy: you shall tread on me, or slap me, or kiss me;
whichever you like.'

'I can't tell you how vexed I am,' said Beatrice; 'I wanted to arrange
something.'

'Arrange something! What? arrange what? I love arranging. I fancy
myself qualified to be an arranger-general in female matters. I mean
pots and pans, and such like. Of course I don't allude to
extraordinary people and extraordinary circumstances that require tact,
and delicacy, and drawbacks, and that sort of thing.'

'Very well, Mary.'