And talking of every conceivable thing. But don't suppose, Madam, that anything I say has reference to you. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother.
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