‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. "Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it.
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