"Hum!" sighed my uncle Jervas. "A gentleman is usually a better man for having been a lad! As to our nephew--" "Pray, Jervas," said aunt Julia, lifting white imperious hand, "suffer me one word, at least; in justice to myself I can sit mute no longer--" "Mute?" exclaimed uncle George, grasping whisker again. "Mute, were you, Julia; oh, begad, why then--" "George--silence--I plead!" said my aunt, and folding her white hands demurely on her knee gazed down at them wistfully beneath drooping lashes. "Proceed, Julia," quoth my uncle Jervas, "your voice is music to my soul--" "Mine too!" added uncle George, "mine too, dooce take me if 't isn't!" MY AUNT (her voice soft and plaintively sad). For nineteen happy years I have devoted myself to caring for my nephew Peregrine, body and mind. My every thought has been of him or for him, my love has been his shield against discomforts, bodily ailments and ills of the mind-- MY UNCLE JERVAS. And precisely there, Julia, lies his happy misfortune. You have thought for him so effectively he has had small scope to think for himself; cared for him so sedulously that he shall hardly know how to take care of himself; sheltered him so rigorously that, once removed from the sphere of your strong personality, he would be pitifully lost and helpless. In short, he is suffering of a surfeit of love, determined tenderness and pertinacious care--in a word, Julia, he is over-Juliaized! MY UNCLE GEORGE (a little diffidently, and jingling his spurs). B'gad, and there ye have it, sweet soul--d'ye see-- MY AUNT (smiting him speechless with flashing eye). I--am--not your sweet soul. And as for poor dear Peregrine-- MY UNCLE JERVAS. The poor youth is become altogether too preternaturally dignified, too confounded sober, solemn and sedate for this mundane sphere; he needs more-- UNCLE GEORGE. Brimstone and the devil! MY AUNT (freezingly). George Vereker! UNCLE JERVAS. Wholesome ungentleness. UNCLE GEORGE (hazarding the suggestion). An occasional black eye--bloody nose, d'ye see, Julia, healthy bruise or so-- MY AUNT. Mr. Vereker! UNCLE GEORGE (groping for whisker). What I mean to say is, Julia, a--ha--hum! (Subsides.) UNCLE JERVAS. George is exactly right, Julia. Our nephew is well enough in many ways, I'll admit, but corporeally he is no Vereker; he fills the eye but meanly-- MY AUNT (in tones of icy gloom). Sir Jervas--explain! UNCLE JERVAS. Well, my dear Julia, scan him, I beg; regard him with an observant eye, the eye not of a doting woman but a dispassionate critic--examine him! (Here I sank lower in my great chair.) MY AUNT. If Peregrine is not so--large as your robust self or so burly as--monstrous George, am I to blame? MY UNCLE JERVAS. The adjective robust as applied to myself is, I think, a trifle misplaced. I suggest the word "elegant" instead. MY AUNT (patient and sighful). What have you to remark, George Vereker?