After these preliminary condolences Pentland suggested that Leah should come to Firmingham for the funeral. It was necessary to agree to this, and she did with graceful readiness; only intimating that she would remain in town, until the remains arrived at Southampton. Even as she made the stipulation, she wondered how Demetrius had contrived to transfer Garth's body from Madeira to Jamaica for the deception. "I thought poor Jim would have been buried where he died," she remarked tentatively. The Duke was shocked. "Certainly not. Jim, poor fellow, must rest with his ancestors. We must look upon his face for the last time." Leah plucked nervously at her black gown, and wondered if the Russian was wise in submitting a substituted corpse to family scrutiny. "They say that death changes people," she ventured uneasily, "and of course, embalming----" "Just what I said to Bunny," interrupted Lady Frith, in too vivacious a tone for the occasion. "We shall hardly know Jim with the soul out of him." "My--dear--Hilda!" "Well, Bunny, you know souls aren't buried." "They go to a better world, as Jim's has gone," mourned the doting father. Frith looked doubtfully at his sister-in-law. The less said about Jim's destination, the better: therefore did he crush sentiment with dry business. "I expect Demetrius will arrive with the remains about the end of the month," said he, in the hardest of voices; "after the funeral, we can see about the will." "It leaves everything to Leah," his father informed him. "Indeed! And what had Jim to leave behind him besides his character?" "The insurance money." "Oh--ah--yes. Jarvey Peel's present. Twenty thousand pounds--eh?" "And accumulations," supplemented Lady Jim; "but need we talk of such things, now?" and she sighed the conversation back to sentiment. "Quite so--quite so," quavered the Duke, shaking his head; "terrible loss to you, my dear--and your natural grief, and--hum-hum----" Further fossilised phrases escaped his memory. "I certainly feel for poor Jim," said Leah, with sedate dignity: "he had his faults, of course; but then, so have I." "Your kind remembrance of Jim excuses the few you possess," was Pentland's reply; while Frith, compressing his thin lips, made no remark. Indeed, there was no chance, for Hilda clamoured that Leah should come to her house for beef-tea and consolation. She had never agreed with her more sceptical husband about the Curzon Street menage, and credited Lady Jim with the requisite virtues of a genuine widow. "Your strength must be kept up, dear," she babbled, as though she expected Leah to faint then and there. "I know exactly how you feel. Just as I should, if Bunny became an angel. But we must all die, dear Leah, and death is the gate of life, and----" "Can't you leave these proverbial condolences to Lionel?" broke in her exasperated husband. "Oh, Bunny"--with a wail--"the sacred dead." "Let the child talk," commanded Pentland; "she expresses my feelings."