Lord Prelice was dining with his lively relative, when this speech was made at the tail-end of a very excellent meal. Haken had duly returned from Paris on the day after the interview of Prelice with Dr. Horace and his two friends. On finding a note from his nephew stating that he desired to speak on an important subject, Mr. Haken had responded with a wire inviting the young man to dinner. Lady Sophia had also arrived in town from Folkstone, and explained to Prelice, when he appeared, that she would do nothing for Mona. This remark led to a request for explanations, which Lady Sophia was only too anxious to afford, and the presence of footmen and butler at the dinner-table alone kept her from raging at Prelice all the time he was eating. Haken, looking more dried-up than ever, sat at the foot of the table--his wife invariably took the top--and chuckled at intervals. He had not yet heard what Prelice wished to speak about, and was waiting until Lady Sophia retired to the drawing-room, a thing she seemed disinclined to do at present, so rabid was she against her nephew. Having made the above remark, she waited for a reply; but as Prelice merely crumbled what was left of his bread, and said nothing, she launched out again with a peremptory question. "Do you, or do you not, wish your father to turn in his grave?" "My dear aunt," replied Prelice very distinctly, "I wish the corpse to take the position it finds the most comfortable." "Oh!" cried Lady Sophia, outraged in her deepest feelings, "oh, that I should live to hear my late brother called an 'it.' Have you no reverence, Prelice?" "Not so much reverence, as I have patience," he replied, very bored. "Ah." Lady Sophia hugged herself. "I might have expected that. You never, never will face the truth." "What is the truth?" asked Haken, his eyes twinkling, and putting the question of Pilate. "The truth," said his wife majestically, "is that Prelice must have been changed at nurse. He has not the feelings of his ancestors." "I have their gout, however," said Prelice humorously. "What possible objection can you have to my marrying. Aunt Sophia?" "It's not the marriage itself I object to, Prelice, but to the bride you choose. You know that well." "There won't be a prettier bride in the Three Kingdoms than Mona." "I am quite sure there won't," said his aunt spitefully, "if she only gets as far as the altar." "The communion-rails, you mean. I'll do my best to bring her there." "Not in my presence, Prelice." "All right. We'll have a quiet wedding." "A quiet wedding," raged Lady Sophia, "and with such a notorious girl as the bride. Why, all the----" "Aunt Sophia," interrupted Prelice, growing restive under these insults, "permit me to remind you that Miss Chent is to be my wife, and that I am quite capable of managing my own affairs." Lady Sophia rose, and swept to the door. "I'm sorry for you. I am truly sorry for you," said she with scorn, and throwing back her head.