Hippias emphatically did not remember, and he did not believe the story.  Irritation at the mad ravishment of his pill-box rendered him incredulous.  As he had no means of confuting his nephew, all he could do safely to express his disbelief in him, was to utter petulant remarks on his powerlessness to appear at the dinner-table that day:  upon which—­Berry just then trumpeting dinner—­Algernon seized one arm of the Dyspepsy, and Richard another, and the laughing couple bore him into the room where dinner was laid, Ripton sniggering in the rear, the really happy man of the party.

They had fun at the dinner-table.  Richard would have it; and his gaiety, his by-play, his princely superiority to truth and heroic promise of overriding all our laws, his handsome face, the lord and possessor of beauty that he looked, as it were a star shining on his forehead, gained the old complete mastery over Ripton, who had been, mentally at least, half patronizing him till then, because he knew more of London and life, and was aware that his friend now depended upon him almost entirely.

After a second circle of the claret, the hero caught his lieutenant’s eye across the table, and said: 

“We must go out and talk over that law-business, Rip, before you go.  Do you think the old lady has any chance?”

“Not a bit!” said Ripton, authoritatively.

“But it’s worth fighting—­eh, Rip?”

“Oh, certainly!” was Ripton’s mature opinion.

Richard observed that Ripton’s father seemed doubtful.  Ripton cited his father’s habitual caution.  Richard made a playful remark on the necessity of sometimes acting in opposition to fathers.  Ripton agreed to it—­in certain cases.

“Yes, yes! in certain cases,” said Richard.

“Pretty legal morality, gentlemen!” Algernon interjected; Hippias adding:  “And lay, too!”

The pair of uncles listened further to the fictitious dialogue, well kept up on both sides, and in the end desired a statement of the old lady’s garrulous case; Hippias offering to decide what her chances were in law, and Algernon to give a common-sense judgment.

“Rip will tell you,” said Richard, deferentially signalling the lawyer.  “I’m a bad hand at these matters.  Tell them how it stands, Rip.”

Ripton disguised his excessive uneasiness under endeavours to right his position on his chair, and, inwardly praying speed to the claret jug to come and strengthen his wits, began with a careless aspect:  “Oh, nothing!  She very curious old character!  She—­a—­wears a wig.  She—­a—­very curious old character indeed!  She—­a—­quite the old style.  There’s no doing anything with her!” and Ripton took a long breath to relieve himself after his elaborate fiction.

“So it appears,” Hippias commented, and Algernon asked:  “Well? and about her wig?  Somebody stole it?” while Richard, whose features were grim with suppressed laughter, bade the narrator continue.