“I say, old chap,” said his old school-fellow, smiling dryly, “you're in for a wigging from the Mater.”
“A wigging?” murmured Shelton.
“I don't know much about it, but from something she let drop it seems you've been saying some queer things in your letters to Antonia”; and again he looked at Shelton with his dry smile.
“Queer things?” said the latter angrily. “What d' you mean?”
“Oh, don't ask me. The Mater thinks she's in a bad way—unsettled, or what d' you call at. You've been telling her that things are not what they seem. That's bad, you know”; and still smiling he shook his head.
Shelton dropped his eyes.
“Well, they are n't!” he said.
“Oh, that's all right! But don't bring your philosophy down here, old chap.”
“Philosophy!” said Shelton, puzzled.
“Leave us a sacred prejudice or two.”