"What for ?" "Liosha has just gone for her with a pair of scissors." "Horrible!" said I, getting the ends even.

"I can imagine nothing more finnikin in ghastliness than to cut anybody's throat with nail scissors, especially when the subject is unwilling." Barbara pished and pshawed.

It was no occasion for levity.
"I agree," said I.The dressing hour is the calmest and most philosophic period of the day.
Barbara came up to me blue eyed and innocent, and with a traitorous jerk, undid my beautiful white bow.
"There, now listen." And I, dilapidated wretch, had to listen to the tale of crime.

It appeared that Reynolds, my wife's maid, in putting Liosha into a ready-made gown--a model gown I believe is the correct term--insisted on her being properly corseted.

Liosha, agonisingly constricted, rebelled.
The maid was obdurate.