"I was just thinking the same about you," confessed Prelice, good-humouredly; "it is so disagreeable for a late riser to be reminded of the time." And having folded his napkin, he lighted a cigarette.
"How long is this going on?" demanded Lady Sophia fiercely. His imperturbability made her long to shake him thoroughly.
"How long is what going on?" asked Prelice provokingly.
"This idle, idiotic, insane, sensual, foolish, wicked, dilatory existence!"
"Seven adjectives," murmured the young man, opening his eyes. "Waste, waste—oh, what waste!"
"How long is this going on?" inquired his relative again, and whipped her skirts—instead of Prelice's back—with renewed vigour.
He was forced to answer. "As long as I do, no doubt. What else is to be done, I should like to know?"
"You shall know. Serve your country."
"What! And be abused in the penny press? No, thank you."
"You can surely help your brother-man."