“I beg you not to preach to me, Theodore,” she answered, bridling.
“No man is a prophet in his own country,” said he, with a shrug of the shoulders. Then he turned to his brother: “But you will wonder why I sent you that urgent note, asking you to luncheon.”
“Not at all. I can quite understand that the pleasure of my company was worth a special messenger.”
But Canon Spratte interrupted: “I asked you to come in your official capacity, if I may so call it—as the head of the family.”
“My dear Theodore, merely by courtesy: I am unworthy.”
“The fact is sufficiently patent without your recalling it,” retorted the Canon, promptly. “But I should be obliged if at this moment, when the affairs of our house are at stake, you would adopt such sobriety and decorum as you are capable of.”
“I wish I’d got my coronation robes on now,” sighed Lord Spratte.
“Go on, Theodore,” suggested their sister.
“Well, you will all of you be gratified to hear that Lord Wroxham has asked my permission to pay his addresses to Winnie.”
“In my young days when a man wanted to marry he asked the girl before he asked her father,” said Lady Sophia.