"And your husband had been really a corpse? How like you!" "Well," said the Duchess, cheerfully. "Jim might have been of some use if his,--what do you call those things?--oh, yes,--if his vortices had combined with other elements to grow into plants and sheep and cows, and generally do the sort of things which vortices are supposed to do. But as a Duke he is a failure." "I don't exactly know what you mean by your heathen talk of vortices," snapped Lady Canvey. "Dust we are, and unto dust shall we return." "Not Jim," protested Leah: "he would return to mud. He just looks as though he were made of sticky, clayey, stodgy mud." "It is not original to abuse your husband." "I know that; but you are too old-fashioned to admire originality." Lady Canvey thumped with her stick vigorously. "Do not be so desperately sharp, Leah; you make my head ache. By the way, I have news for you about that nice boy you treated so badly." "I have treated so many nice boys badly. Billy Richardson, Algy Turner, Harry Askew----" "The last. He is to be married." "I knew that a year ago. He left before Jim came home to make some Spanish creature his wife." "Miss Mamie Mulrady does not sound like a Spanish name." "That girl! You don't say so?" Leah looked genuinely surprised. "I suppose Señorita Fajardo would not have him. Perhaps she is waiting for Mr. Berring." "Who is he?" "Oh--er--a friend of mine"; she put up her muff to hide a smile. "I know that U.S.A. heiress--a nice girl if she did not affect the Wild West of which she knows absolutely nothing. No doubt she thinks it chic to let Europeans hear the American eagle scream in the vernacular. Fancy!--and to Askew! A good match for him. I suppose he will call pounds, shillings and pence collectively dollars now that he is brother to George Washington." "I don't think so. Mrs. Askew will probably be more English than the English." "She might easily be that, since the English are mostly aliens nowadays. Well, I must go. Good-bye. I have enjoyed my hour. I always do with you, godmother. Such a clever tongue!" "I am not leaving you any money, my dear." "Please don't. Your grandson is finding that opera-dancer expensive. Give Canvey your savings, and his lady-love will dance professionally on your grave." "I am glad cats don't talk," said the old woman, addressing no one in particular. "One is quite enough." "Ah, they do talk then," laughed Leah, and having got the last word slipped away before Lady Canvey could rally her forces.