"Only too true, unfortunately."
"For those two, I suppose you mean. You're all right."
"A square peg in a round hole, I fear," he sighed. "I would give much that both had survived."
"How unnatural!" commented Lady Jim, with a grimace. "But you always were eccentric. People won't mind that, now you are a duke. But I am sorry--really--for them, I mean. Such an awful thing to be cut off before you've made your arrangements for an agreeable reception in the next world. What a mercy they went together--for company, you know; and they say drowning is really quite nice after the first choking is over."
Lionel looked at her sternly, but felt helpless. She played with the solemn issues of life and death as a child with a bauble. Would nothing touch her heart? Would nothing make her serious? The flippancy jarred on his overstrung nerves. "Please do not talk like that," said he, harshly and emphatically. "Please do not."
"I am only trying to cheer you up," she answered, opening her eyes wide, and with a faint smile softening her hard mouth. "I really cried--you mustn't think me hard-hearted; really, I cried when I heard of the accident. I suppose it was an accident?"
"I should call it the act of God."
"Oh!" Leah could find no very pertinent reply, and glided dexterously into another subject, to prevent religious instruction. "I came down to see poor Hilda, as she wanted me so badly. But I thought it best to learn details from you first. We must spare the poor thing's feelings, you know, Lionel," ended Lady Jim, thoughtfully.
His face brightened. "I am glad you call me that," said he, earnestly, "for I confess it is difficult for me to respond to my title."
"You'll get used to it," she assured him. "I suppose you will drop the parson now?"