My dear Clara, have you lost your senses that you can for a moment dream of putting a growing girl into an instrument of torture like this ?" and with a sudden gesture he plucked forth the offending corsets from under the sofa cushion, and held them out with the expression one would wear on beholding the thumbscrews or the rack of ancient times.
"Don't be absurd, Alec.

There is no torture about it, for tight lacing is out of fashion, and we have nice, sensible things nowadays.

Everyone wears them; even babies have stiffened waists to support their weak little backs," began Mrs.Clara, rushing to the defence of the pet delusion of most women.
"I know it, and so the poor little souls have weak backs all their days, as their mothers had before them.

It is vain to argue the matter, and I won't try, but I wish to state, once for all, that if I ever see a pair of corsets near Rose, I'll put them in the fire, and you may send the bill to me." As he spoke the corsets were on their way to destruction, but Mrs.
Jessie caught his arm, exclaiming merrily, "Don't burn them, for mercy sake, Alec; they are full of whalebones, and will make a dreadful odour.
Give them to me.

I'll see that they do no harm." "Whalebones, indeed! A regular fence of them, and metal gate-posts in front.