Lucius glanced at the paper to which his father pointed.
"Oh, I've read the rubbish," he said wearily. "It makes me sick."
"Read it," said Mr. Binney. "Yes, I've no doubt you've read it, sir. What I should like to know is how much you wrote of it."
"I don't know what you mean," said Lucius. "I've had quite enough mud thrown at me since you've been up here, father. It isn't likely I should take to throwing it at myself."
"Don't prevaricate, sir," said Mr. Binney, his voice rising. "Did you write it, or did you not?"
"I'm not going to answer such a ridiculous question," said Lucius sulkily.
"Then I will answer it for you," said Mr. Binney. "You did write it. I know you have always nourished evil feelings against that excellent woman Martha Higginbotham, who I hope will one day do you the honour of becoming your mother. Not content with wreaking your unfilial spite against your own father who begat you, you must smirch the good name of a lady who has always loaded you with kindness. Out upon such conduct, I say."
Lucius held his head in his hands. "I suppose I shall understand it all soon," he said. "At present it sounds like one of Dr. Toller's sermons. Is there anything about you and Mrs. Higginbotham in the advertisements, father? I've read all the rest of the rag and I don't remember her name being mentioned."
"What is that name, sir?" asked Mr. Binney, pointing to the signature of his imaginary mother's letters.
"Martha Binney," read Lucius.