Lord Prelice felt desperately bored. Like Xeres, he longed for some new pleasure, yet knew not where to look for one. This was the result of being surfeited with the sweets of extraordinary good fortune. Born to a title, endowed with passable good looks, gifted with abilities above the average, and possessed of admirable health, he should have been the happiest of men; the more especially as his income ran well into five figures, and he had the whole wide world to play with. Certainly he had played with it and with life, up to his present age of thirty-five years. Perhaps this was the reason of his acute boredom. If all work and no play makes Jack dull; all play and no work must necessarily make him blase. Therefore, in spite of the excellent breakfast spread before him on this bright summer morning, when London was looking at its best, the young man was ungratefully wondering what he could do to render life endurable. He ate from habit and not because he enjoyed his food; he read the morning papers, since it was necessary to be abreast of the times, for conversational purposes, although very little was new therein and still less was true. By the time he arrived at the marmalade stage of the meal he was again considering the possibilities of the next four and twenty hours. In this discontented frame of mind he was discovered by his aunt. Lady Sophia Haken bustled into the pleasant room exasperatingly cheerful, and very pleased with life in general and with herself in particular. She was an elderly woman of a somewhat masculine type who lived a simple out-of-door existence, and who proclaimed loudly that it was necessary for humanity to return to the Stone Age for true enjoyment. Having been riding in the Row for the last two hours, she entered in her habit, filled with the egotism of the early riser. As a near relative, she could not do less than scold Prelice for lingering over a late breakfast, and told him, -also as a near relative-that she scolded him for his good. She had done so very often before without result, and, but that she loved to lay down the law, would have long since given over the attempt to improve her nephew. Nevertheless, anxious to achieve the impossible, she attacked him with pristine vigor, as though aware for the first time of his bad habits. "Nine o'clock and still at breakfast," said Lady Sophia significantly, and slapped her skirts with a whip which she would have dearly liked to lay across her lazy nephew's broad shoulders. Prelice looked indolently at the clock, then at the table, and finally at his fuming aunt. "I cannot deny it," he said, with a yawn. "Is that all you have to say?" she asked, much disgusted. Prelice heaved a sigh. It was necessary to say something, if only to stem the coming tide of verbose speech. "How well you are looking." "Because I have been up since six o'clock." "How unwise; you will probably sleep all the afternoon." Lady Sophia snapped, tartly: "I shall do nothing of the sort." "Oh, very well," he assented, "you will do nothing of the sort. Anything for a quiet life, even agreement with the improbable." His aunt grasped her whip dangerously. "How exasperating you are!" "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.
About the Author: Fergusson Wright Hume, known as Fergus Hume, was a prolific English novelist.