"You never said that when he was alive."
"Of course not: he would have taken advantage of the compliment. But Jim wasn't bad on the whole. He left me alone, at all events. Perhaps his successor will bother me to show public affection: as if I would--or could, for the matter of that."
"Lady James, do you love any one but yourself?"
"You and Joan--dear little innocent glass-case dolls that you are. Yes; you may blush and smile, but I am really in earnest. You were always so rude to me that I knew you to be genuine."
"Oh!" Lionel exhibited shocked surprise. "I hope I was never rude."
"Horribly, on all occasions. If you had not been, I never should have believed that you were genuine. When people mean what they say, and don't want anything from one, they are always rude; it's a kind of trademark. I am sure Socrates was a man you could always trust and would never have invited to dinner. You're something like him, only you don't ask questions and are better-looking. I always consider you the one honest man in a world of rogues, and if you were not engaged to Joan, I should marry you."
Lionel coloured still deeper and laughed in an embarrassed fashion. "I might have something to say to that."
"Not at all. Didn't you hear me say that I should have married you. What could you or any man do against me?" and she laughed with an insolent pride in her beauty and powers. "By the way," she added, "I have to run up to town to-morrow on business. Do you mind?"
"Not at all. Joan and her mother will be here. Do exactly what you please, Lady James."
"Call me Leah, now that you are the head of the family," she murmured, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.