"Hush, hush! He is dead." "I see evidences of that on all sides of me," replied Leah, tartly. "Shouldn't you say that he is not lost but gone before? I believe that is one of the stock phrases of your profession." Lionel moved uneasily. It was difficult to whitewash Jim, and he could not invent non-existing virtues on the spur of the moment. "He was your husband, remember," was his effort to parry this thrust. "Oh, Lord, don't I know it? Would I put up with all this, else? Did you come to tell me that Queen Anne is dead?" "I came to cheer you." "Go on, then. Tell me a funny story." The curate looked and felt shocked. "Lady James----" "Lionel, if you preach I shall scream," cried Leah, developing whirlwind passion, and rising a veritable Bellona; "or else I'll--I'll--oh!" she ripped her handkerchief viciously, while sweeping tempestuously up and down. "I don't know what I'll do, if you play Job's comforter." Her cheeks flamed, her eyes sparkled, and her voice leaped an octave as she flung the last words at him. Lionel started up, surprised at this sudden anger, and wondered if grief was bringing on hysteria. "Won't you sit down?" said obtuse man, giving the worst possible advice to overstrung woman. "A little sal volatile----" "I'm sick of sitting down, and lying down, and sal volatile, and listening to humbug, and wearing black, and being bothered. I've had more trouble over Jim in his death than I ever allowed him to give me in his life. You say the same silly things every one else says--you--you parrot! Can't you be original?" "Death is such an old-established institution that it is difficult to be original," said Lionel, resuming his chair with a shrug. "Then I shall talk myself. Yes; I wish to speak plainly, and to you I intend to speak plainly, since you are the only man I respect." "Thank you!" "I daresay you are priggish," went on Lady Jim, finding it a marvellous relief to speak loudly and without reserve; "but you are honest in spite of it, and you don't gossip, though you _are_ a parson. In trouble I shall always come to you, padre." "You are in trouble now," hinted Kaimes, smiling at her frankness. "Eh! What? Yes, of course, Jim's dead." She choked over the lie, and returned to laugh at ease in her chair. "Where has he gone, Lionel?" "Don't, Lady James! I admit that he had his faults." "Be honest. He had nothing else but faults." "No, no! We all have our good points." "Give me a list of Jim's," she suggested derisively. "For the moment, I can't think----" "No; nor you wouldn't if you thought for a century. Jim is as bad as they make 'em." "_Was_--if you will abuse him." "Oh yes, I forgot. Well, then, Jim _was_ bad; and I don't know if you call telling the truth abuse." "Of the most virulent sort, on occasions. Are we not all sinners?" "Speak for yourself, Mr. Humility."