"It might be with you, certainly. But you are not the sort to be canonised." "Well, I don't know. A sinner is the raw material out of which a saint is manufactured. You can't be really good, unless you have been really very bad." "That is useful information," said Lady Canvey, dryly; "and very encouraging to people like yourself. You might make an attempt at being Saint Leah or Saint Jezebel." "Lady Canvey!" "Oh," the old dame chuckled, "then you do know something of Scripture." "Yes, but I don't quote it to annoy other people." "Your tongue is quite clever enough to do without such aid, my dear. And don't lose your temper--I am only talking for your good." "Disagreeable conversations are always prefaced by that remark. Yes?" "I was thinking you might begin on your saintly career by endowing a church with this coal money. They build churches very cheap nowadays. You can have one of red brick, and----" "There are too many churches, and too few worshippers," interrupted the Duchess, with a shrug; "besides, I propose to endow myself with the coal money. I daresay I shall give fifty pounds or so to Lionel for his paupers." "You must not ruin yourself, my dear," said Lady Canvey, with affectionate spite. "I thought that Lionel, as a married man, and the Vicar of Firmingham, had nothing to do with paupers. There are none in the parish there--at least, there were none in Pentland's time," she ended with emphasis. "I suppose you mean to hint that Jim is stopping his charities and putting on the screw. Don't distress yourself, godmother; everything is as it was, save that our tenants and villagers are more gorged and much more impudent. Lionel doesn't appreciate the godliness of his heritage, because his parishioners pay their rents regularly and come to church without the whip. They are so pious that his occupation is gone." "That would not suit an energetic Christian like Lionel." "It doesn't. He and Joan take pleasure trips into the Lambeth slums and ask seedy ruffians to stay with them in the country. What with converted burglars and wives who assure you they haven't been beaten for weeks, the place is quite a Whitechapel Paradise. Lionel preaches to the ruffians, and Joan listens to the wives with whole skins. I believe they join forces to wash the children. Oh, they have rollicking times at Firmingham Vicarage, I assure you." "Very meritorious times," said Lady Canvey, reprovingly--"quite like the primitive Christian Church." "Less clean, I fancy, and more ungrammatical," murmured Leah. "Don't mock, my dear. Lionel is a noble man." "I quite agree with you, and without mockery. Jim is also a noble man, in a different sense, if you will forgive the pun." "It is unworthy of your wit." "I cannot always be pyrotechnical. You need flint and steel to strike fire, and I find no flints amongst the idiots I have to entertain. Do you know, godmother,"--Leah stared into the fire--"I often wish that Lionel had remained the Duke."