“Well, Louie, you are obstinate,” said her mother; and turning to Lady Sophia she added confidentially: “She ’as been--ever since she was a child.” But the appearance of the stately Ponsonby with tea-things changed the conversation. Mrs. Railing looked round the room, and the Canon saw that her eyes rested on the magnificent portrait of the first Lord Spratte. “That is my father, the late Lord Chancellor of England. It is a most admirable likeness.” “It’s a very ’andsome frame,” said Mrs. Railing, anxious to be polite. Lord Spratte burst out laughing. “He is plain, isn’t he?” “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” answered Mrs. Railing, with confusion, “I would never take such a liberty.” “Now, you can’t honestly say he was a beauty, Mrs. Railing.” “Thomas, remember he was my father,” inserted the Canon. But Mrs. Railing feared she had wounded her host’s feelings. “Now I come to look at ’im, I don’t think ’e’s so bad looking after all,” she said. His elder son cast a rapid glance at the Lord Chancellor’s sardonic smile. “In the family we think he’s the very image of my brother Theodore.” “Well, now you mention it, I do see a likeness,” replied Mrs. Railing, innocently looking from the portrait to Canon Spratte. The Canon shook his head at his brother with smiling menace, and handed the good lady a cup of tea. While she stirred it, she addressed herself amiably to Lady Sophia. “Nice neighbourhood this!” she said. “South Kensington?” answered Lady Sophia. “It’s the least unpleasant of all the suburbs.” “My dear, I cannot allow South Kensington to be called a suburb,” cried the Canon. “It’s the very centre of London.” Lady Sophia smiled coldly. “It always reminds me of the Hamlet who was funny without being vulgar: South Kensington is Bayswater without being funny.” “Peckham’s a nice neighbourhood,” said Mrs. Railing, trying to balance a piece of cake in her saucer. “You get such a nice class of people there.” “So I should think,” replied Lady Sophia. “We’ve got such a pretty little ’ouse near the Gladstone Road. Of course, we ’aven’t got electric light, but we’ve got a lovely bath-room. And Bertie takes a bath every morning.” “Does he, indeed!” exclaimed the Canon. “Yes, and ’e says he can’t do without it: if ’e doesn’t ’ave it, ’e’s uncomfortable all day. Things ’ave changed since I was a girl. Why, nobody thought of ’aving all these baths then. Now, only the other day I was talking to Mr. Smithers, the builder, an’ he said to me: ‘Lor, Mrs. Railing,’ says he, ‘people are getting that fussy, if you build ’em a house without a bath-room they won’t look at it.’ Why, even Louie takes a bath every Saturday night regular.” “They say that cleanliness is next to godliness,” returned Canon Spratte, sententiously. “There’s no denying that, but one ’as to be careful,” said Mrs. Railing. “I’ve known a lot of people who’ve took their death of cold all through ’aving a bath when they wasn’t feeling very well.”