"Hurrah, Aunt Sophia! I endorse all the unnecessary adjectives save the second!" "You can take that to yourself, Prelice. Now what am I?" "A weathercock," said her graceless nephew promptly, although she quite expected him to say something else. "You bully-ragged me about my marriage, and now you---- Oh, I say," ended Prelice in dismay, for Lady Sophia had burst into tears, "whatever is the matter?" "I'm so wicked," sobbed the old lady, clinging to Mona. "Simon has told me all, and how very nearly he was being accused of murder. It was so lucky that his connection with this horrid herb thing was kept out of the papers, or else I never, never, never should have held up my head again. Oh, that I might have lived to see my husband in a nasty dock." "Don't trouble," whispered Mona, leading the old lady to the sofa; "it is all right. Mr. Haken is in no danger." "And that being so," cried Prelice indignantly, "he might have held his confounded tongue, and not worried you." "My dear George," said Lady Sophia, wiping her eyes, "he did it for your sake. I was raging against the marriage, and he told me how nearly he had been an Old Bailey thing, or a New Bailey creature. I forget which. I saw then how very easily one can be accused of things they hadn't the slightest intention of doing. And so--I am here. Kiss me, my love," cried Lady Sophia, again embracing Mona. "You are much, oh, ever so much, too good for Prelice." "And I was too good for her some time ago," laughed Prelice. "Aunt Sophia, you are a weathercock; but," he added, shaking hands, "I am glad that a kind wind has blown you round to being pleased. You are an angel." "I've been very horrid," said Lady Sophia penitently, "but I have made it up with everyone--even with Constance, poor thing, although she did behave badly with that silly poodle creature." "He is dead, so let him rest, Aunt Sophia; and Constance has been punished, so don't blame her any more." "I am not blaming her. How silly you are, Prelice. Don't I tell you that I've called to see her? She looks so well in her mourning, and so very happy. Mr. Shepworth is keeping away from her for a time; but they quite understand each other, and marry in a year. It will be a good match for Mr. Shepworth, for Constance will have all that poor thing's money. She won't have any bridesmaids, though, being a widow." Lady Sophia's discontented chatter was ended by the entrance of Dr. Horace, still gruff and untidy and aggressive. "Oh, here you are," said Lady Sophia, "looking more like a man out of the Stone Age than ever. I take him about as an illustration of the time when people lived in sweet little caves, and wore sables all the year round." "'Day, Prelice," said Horace, taking no notice of Lady Sophia's babble. "How are you, Miss Chent? I have come to say good-bye. I can't stand this London rot, so I'm off again to the other side of the world."