“Sat as grave as judges.”
“And you tell me they are not fools.”
“I must repeat, they have not that excuse. Perhaps their risibility had been exhausted. After laughing three hours a propos de rien, it is time to be serious out of place. I will tell you what they did laugh at, though. Miss Malcolm sang a song with a title I dare not attempt. There were two lines in it which I am going to mispronounce; but you are not Scotch, so I don't care for you, uncle, darling.
“'He had but a saxpence; he break it in twa,
And he gave me the half o't when he gaed awa.'
“They laughed at that; a general giggle went round.”
“Well, I must confess, I don't see much to laugh at in that, Lucy.”
“It would be odd if you did, uncle, dear; why, it is pathetic.”
“Pathetic? Oh, is it?”
“You naughty, cunning uncle, you know it is; it is pathetic, and almost heroic. Consider, dear: in a world where the very newspapers show how mercenary we all are, a poor young man is parted from his love. He has but one coin to go through the world with, and what does he do with it? Scheme to make the sixpence a crown, and to make the crown a pound? No; he breaks this one treasure in two, that both the poor things may have a silver token of love and a pledge of his return. I am sure, if the poet had been here, he would have been quite angry with us for laughing at that line.”
“Keep your temper. Why, this is new from you, Lucy; but you women of sugar can all cauterize your own sex; the theme inspires you.”