"
But thrice Mrs. Wyvern lovingly checked him. "Dear William, no. You
have hardly touched your sole. You must finish it, dear, every scrap,
before you look at the paper. You have been eating such good
breakfasts lately. Now, please, William, finish it first."
"It is as big as a shark," the Professor grumbles, making shots with
his trembling fork.
"Dear William, it is a very small sole."
At last he has finished. A line catches his eye as he unfolds the
_Daily_, and he chuckles: "Oh, dear! This is a very horrible paper.
'Actress and Stockbroker--Piccadilly by night.'"
"Dear William, we only want to read what Bill has written. An
interview, he tells us, with--"
Dear William waggles his naughty old head over the actress and the
stockbroker; shaky fingers unfold the centre pages; nose runs up one
column and down another, then suddenly starts back burnt by the
flaring "Country House Outrage."
"Dearest! Dearest! Whatever is the matter?"
But dearest is speechless. Dearest can only cough and choke and
splutter in convulsions of mirth over some terrific joke of which he
will tell Mrs. Wyvern no more than: "He has done it. Oh, dear! oh,
dear! He has done it. Oh, dear! This will be very funny indeed!"
IV.
It will be seen that two out of the three readers particularly
interested in Mr.
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