"If I humble myself very low; if I kneel through the whole evening in a corner; if I put my neck down and let all your cousins trample on it, and then your aunt, would not that make atonement?
I would not object to wearing sackcloth, either; and I'd eat a little ashes--or, at any rate, I'd try." "I know you're clever, Mary; but still I think you're a fool.

I do, indeed." "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.