"Mercy, how you do talk about that lace?" said his wife.
"Well, I want to be lively. There's every reason for it; we're going to Chamouni."
"You're restless; that's what's the matter with you." And Mrs. Ruck got up.
"No, I ain't," said her husband. "I never felt so quiet; I feel as peaceful as a little child."
Mrs. Ruck, who had no sense whatever of humour, looked at her daughter and at me. "Well, I hope you'll improve," she said.
"Send in the bills," Mr. Ruck went on, rising to his feet. "Don't hesitate, Sophy. I don't care what you do now. In for a penny, in for a pound."
Miss Ruck joined her mother, with a little toss of her head, and we followed the ladies to the carriage. "In your place," said Miss Sophy to her father, "I wouldn't talk so much about pennies and pounds before strangers."
Poor Mr. Ruck appeared to feel the force of this observation, which, in the consciousness of a man who had never been "mean," could hardly fail to strike a responsive chord. He coloured a little,
