For answer Lady Sophia turned to Mona, and took her to her breast. "My dearest girl," she said, smiling, "when you marry George Prelice you must really try and put some sense into his head."
"Do you wish me to marry him?" asked Mona rather scared.
"Of course I do," cried Lady Sophia with asperity. "What else am I here for, you dear, silly, pretty, sweet, angelic darling?"
"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."