“You are not compelled to eat any before dinner,” said Adrian, pointing the corner of the table after him, “but your share you must take, and appear to consume.  One who has done so much to bring about the marriage cannot in conscience refuse his allotment of the fruits.  Maidens, I hear, first cook it under their pillows, and extract nuptial dreams therefrom—­said to be of a lighter class, taken that way.  It’s a capital cake, and, upon my honour, you have helped to make it—­you have indeed!  So here it is.”

The table again went at Hippias.  He ran nimbly round it, and flung himself on a sofa exhausted, crying:  “There!...  My appetite’s gone for to-day!”

“Then shall I tell Richard that you won’t touch a morsel of his cake?” said Adrian, leaning on his two hands over the table and looking at his uncle.

“Richard?”

“Yes, your nephew:  my cousin:  Richard!  Your companion since you’ve been in town.  He’s married, you know.  Married this morning at Kensington parish church, by licence, at half-past eleven of the clock, or twenty to.  Married, and gone to spend his honeymoon in the Isle of Wight, a very delectable place for a month’s residence.  I have to announce to you that, thanks to your assistance, the experiment is launched, sir!”

“Richard married!”

There was something to think and to say in objection to it, but the wits of poor Hippias were softened by the shock.  His hand travelled half-way to his forehead, spread out to smooth the surface of that seat of reason, and then fell.

“Surely you knew all about it? you were so anxious to have him in town under your charge....”

“Married?” Hippias jumped up—­he had it.  “Why, he’s under age! he’s an infant.”

“So he is.  But the infant is not the less married.  Fib like a man and pay your fee—­what does it matter?  Any one who is breeched can obtain a licence in our noble country.  And the interests of morality demand that it should not be difficult.  Is it true—­can you persuade anybody that you have known nothing about it?”

“Ha! infamous joke!  I wish, sir, you would play your pranks on somebody else,” said Hippias, sternly, as he sank back on the sofa.  “You’ve done me up for the day, I can assure you.”

Adrian sat down to instil belief by gentle degrees, and put an artistic finish to the work.  He had the gratification of passing his uncle through varied contortions, and at last Hippias perspired in conviction, and exclaimed, “This accounts for his conduct to me.  That boy must have a cunning nothing short of infernal!  I feel...I feel it just here, he drew a hand along his midriff.

“I’m not equal to this world of fools,” he added faintly, and shut his eyes.  “No, I can’t dine.  Eat? ha!...no.  Go without me!”

Shortly after, Hippias went to bed, saying to himself, as he undressed, “See what comes of our fine schemes!  Poor Austin!” and as the pillow swelled over his ears, “I’m not sure that a day’s fast won’t do me good.”  The Dyspepsy had bought his philosophy at a heavy price; he had a right to use it.