It was Jim's custom to saunter into his wife's bedroom, before descending to make a hearty meal, and complain that he had rested badly. This was a pleasing fiction, as he slept like a dormouse, and snored steadily through the hours he allotted to sleep without even a dream. But on entering for his morning grumble, he was so surprised to find Leah in her dressing-gown before a brisk fire, with a breakfast at her elbow and a book open on her lap, that he forgot his egotism. Jim could scarcely believe his lazy eyes, for he knew well that Leah was no student. "What's up?" he asked, after pausing at the door to say "By Jupiter!" with every appearance of surprise. "Got a headache?" "If I had, should I cure it with a novel?" asked his wife, disdainfully. "Don't know, I'm sure," replied Jim, with the matutinal good-humour of a healthy animal. "Doctors recommend such rum things nowadays. But it doesn't matter. I'm off to feed." "Wait for ten minutes, Jim. I have something to say." "You're not goin' to read, are you? I can't stand readin' on a empty stom--well, on nothin'." "Have you ever heard of _The Woman in White?_" asked Leah, irrelevantly. "No; who is she?" "It's a novel." "Don't read 'em. Real life's much more fun." Lady Jim looked at him steadily. "We might turn this"--she touched the book lightly--"into real life." "Goin' to make a play of it?" questioned Jim, obtusely. "Well, you might call it a comedy," she answered. "I certainly do not want it to be a tragedy--though it might come to that," she ended in a lower tone. Jim opened his puzzled blue eyes. "Want of breakfast, I s'pose," he ruminated, "but I don't know what you're talkin' about." "I've passed a white night," announced his wife, abruptly. "What's that?" "The French expression for a wakeful night." "But you say it in English, and how can----?" "It's useless wasting French on a man who understands only the argot of the _trottoir_." "You're wastin' it now. A wakeful night--eh? Why didn't you try that new sedative Demetrius gave you?" "I didn't want to sleep. This book was too interesting. I wish you to read it"; and she extended the novel to her husband. "What!!!" If she had offered poison Jim could not have betrayed more abhorrence. "Read? You--want--me--to--read?" "Well, you know words of two syllables, don't you?" she retorted impatiently. "Take it." Jim handled the book as though it were a scorpion, turning over a hundred leaves rapidly. "Love an' diaries, and--oh, bosh!" "Not at all, unless bosh is your word for common sense. I see a chance of getting that money." "What money?" Leah made an impatient movement. "How dense you are! The insurance money, of course--the twenty thousand pounds. Suppose you died----" "Stop it. I told you I wouldn't." "And you told me that you might pretend to die." "Oh, I was only talkin'. You don't want me to be buried alive!"