“I know, but even your family wants its dinner sometimes.” “Sophia, I shall be obliged if you will not interrupt me. I cannot say I think it kind of you to insist in this vulgar way on the satisfaction of a gross and sensual appetite. I should have thought on such an occasion worthier thoughts would occupy your mind. But if your flesh is weak I am willing that you should begin. I am not a selfish man, and Heaven forbid that I should ask as a right what an affectionate and Christian disposition should grant as a pleasure.” “Fiddlesticks!” Canon Spratte looked his sister up and down. He held himself very erect. “Sophia, I have long felt that you do not treat me with the respect I venture to consider my due. I must really beg you not to act towards me any longer with this mixture of indecent frivolity and vulgar cynicism. I do not wish to remind you that there _is_ a change in my position.” “You have done so twice in five minutes,” said Lady Sophia, acidly. “It appears to be necessary. Once for all, however, let me inform you that henceforth I expect to be treated in a different fashion. If you have not the affection to respect your brother Theodore, if you have not the delicacy of sentiment to respect the son of the late Lord Chancellor--you will at least respect the Bishop of Sheffield.” He stood for a moment to allow the effect of his words to be duly felt, and then marched to the door. Here he stopped and turned round. “It may also interest you to learn that on the thirty-first of July I am going to be married to Gwendolen Durant.” He went out and slammed the door behind him. Lady Sophia stared at her eldest brother with helpless astonishment; but with a little smile, Lord Spratte shrugged his shoulders. “He always has had the last word, Sophia.” XX _The Times_ of the third of May in the following year contained the subjoined announcement: _SPRATTE. On the 1st instant, at the Palace, the wife of the Right Revd. the Bishop of Sheffield, (the Honourable Theodore Spratte,) of a son._ * * * * * _Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay._ End of Project Gutenberg's The Bishop's Apron, by W. Somerset Maugham