Lady Jim was not prepared with a catalogue of her husband's perfections. "Oh, I don't know," she murmured vaguely; "he drinks in moderation, you know. That's something."
"There's no virtue in resisting a non-existent temptation," said the Marquis, grimly. "Jim doesn't come of a drinking family."
"Of a consumptive one, I believe," retorted Leah, softly.
Frith was nettled at the implied slight. "Not at all," he said, with unusual gruffness. "Look at me."
"But that poor Garth----"
"Oh, he--I don't understand--and if you----" Frith coloured as he met her derisive eyes, and devoted himself to his brother.
Lady Jim left the affectionate trio together, lengthening out their farewells, and retired, laughing, to her room. It was really amusing to think that Jim, who was as healthy as a trout in a pond, should be wept over, and coddled, and pitied, and generally elevated to a sainthood. The business was serious enough, no doubt; but Leah could not help seeing the humorous side. She felt unequal to keeping a grave face while the comedy in the drawing-room was being played, and therefore did not rejoin her husband till the principal comedians had departed.
"We are a couple of rotters," said Jim, gloomily, when she appeared.
"Speak for yourself, my dear," she retorted coolly. "Well, and what did they say?"
"Never you mind. You'd only snigger over a father takin' leave of his dyin' son."