Jim paid his promised visit almost at the end of her seclusion, and was disposed to be disagreeable on the plea that his wife had lied unnecessarily. Being truthful himself, when there was nothing to be gained by swerving from the path of rectitude, Jim abhorred a wasted fib, and proceeded to condemn Leah for shooting an aimless arrow from her mental quiver. It was the most pensive hour of the summer twilight when Jim began his sermon, and he preached in his wife's sitting-room. Darby sat beside Joan, who lay languidly on a sofa. What a perfect and touching picture of connubial felicity! If only a reporter of backstair gossip had been present to describe this middle-class domesticity of these great leaders of fashion, Brixton might have learned an edifying lesson from Belgravia.
"Now I do call it hard on a fellow," complained the Duke--"jolly hard--that you can't talk straight, Leah."
"If I did you would scarcely feel flattered. What is it now?"
"Aksakoff! Says he was never near Southend. Swore till all was blue that he'd never set eyes on that girl for months an' months."
"A sad deprivation for so affectionate a father."
"Well, then, he wants to know where she is."
"How should I know?" replied the Duchess, indifferently. "She chose to remain at Southend, and I returned here alone."
"What were you doin' at Southend?"
"That is my business, Jim!"
"Mine also. You said something that wasn't true."