To Lady Sophia it was one of her brother’s most irritating habits to assume an exclusive right to their common progenitors. Even though she was not overwhelmed by the contemplation of their greatness, she felt it hard to be altogether cut off from them. “It’s carried for bill-broking,” said Lord Spratte, with a contented air. “And my belief is that the old chap did a bit of usury as well. It’s no good stuffin’ people, Theodore, they don’t believe us.” “And what about the bill-broker’s papa?” asked Lady Sophia. “I don’t believe the bill-broker had a parent at all,” put in Lord Spratte. “That’s where the Montmorencys come in.” “I confess I don’t know what my great-grandfather was,” answered Theodore, hesitating a little, “but I know he was a gentleman.” “I very much doubt it,” said Lady Sophia, shaking her head. “I can’t help thinking he was a green-grocer.” “Ah, that beats the Montmorencys, by Jove,” cried Lord Spratte. “The ancestral green-grocer--goin’ out to wait at dinner-parties in Bedford Square, and havin’ a sly drink at the old sherry when no one was lookin’!” Lady Sophia began to laugh, but the Canon looked his brother up and down, with a contemptuous twirl of his lips. “Is this your idea of humour, Thomas?” he asked gravely, as though demanding information. “Oh, you don’t know what a load it is off my mind! Here have I been goin’ about all these years with that ghastly string of Montmorencys hangin’ round my neck just like the albatross and the ancient mariner, tryin’ to hide from the world that I knew the family tree was bogus just as well as they did, tryin’ to pretend I didn’t feel ashamed of sneakin’ somebody else’s coat of arms. Why, I can’t look at Burke without getting as red as the binding. But, by Jove, Theodore, I can live up to the ancestral green-grocer.” “I hope you will have the good sense to keep these observations from Wroxham,” returned the Canon, shrugging his shoulders. “Remember that he is about to enter into an alliance with our family, and he’s extremely sensitive in these matters.” “You mean he’s a bit of a prig. Oh, well, he’s only just come down from Oxford. He’ll get over that.” “I mean nothing of the sort. I look upon him as a very excellent young man, and with his opportunities I’m convinced that he’ll end up as Prime Minister.” “And suppose Winnie refuses him?” said Lord Spratte. “What!” cried the Canon, with a jump, for such a possibility had never occurred to him. But he put it aside quickly as beyond the bounds of reason. “Nonsense! Why should she? He’s a very eligible young man, and he has my full approval.” Lord Spratte shrugged his shoulders. “Supposin’ she should take it into her head to marry that Socialist Johnny? D’you know, she told me he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen in her life.” The Canon burst into a shout of laughter.