"I know," said Charles, "at least I can imagine him; but, all the same, I don't think you know what marriage is."
"Oh yes, I do!"
"What is it, then?"
"It's a blessed state," said Fanny, breaking into a joyous laugh; "at least I read so in some old book."
"We were talking of the Prince Regent, I think," said Charles rather stiffly.
"Were we? Oh yes, I remember. Well, they loved each other so much that the old book said it was a matter of common rumour, whatever that means. One night at Crockfords Mr Bevan—he was an ancestor of yours—flew into a frightful temper over some nonsense—a misdeal at cards I think it was—and called George Lambert a name, an awfully funny name; what was this it was? let me think——"
"Don't think, don't think, go on with the story," cried Charles in an agony.
"And George Lambert slapped Mr Bevan's face, and serve him right, too."
"What is that you say?" cried Charles, wattling like a turkey-cock.