"Yes, I know, poor old souls—to be sure, peers' daughters die like other people, I'm afraid."
"And when they do, are mentioned, if not with sorrow, at least with decent respect, by persons, that is, who know how to behave themselves."
There was a slight quiver in Lady Alice's lofty tone that pleased Sir Jekyl, as you might have remarked had you looked over his shoulder into the glass.
"Well, you know, I was speaking not of deaths but births, and only going to say if you look in the peerage you'll find all the men, poor devils, pinned to their birthdays, and the women left at large, to exercise their veracity on the point; but you need not care—you have not pretended to youth for the last ten years I think."
"You are excessively impertinent, sir."
"I know it," answered Sir Jekyl, with a jubilant chuckle.
A very little more, the Baronet knew, and Lady Alice Redcliffe would have risen gray and grim, and sailed out of the room. Their partings were often after this sort.
But he did not wish matters to go quite that length at present. So he said, in a sprightly way, as if a sudden thought had struck him—
"By Jove, I believe I am devilish impertinent, without knowing it though—and you have forgiven me so often, I'm sure you will once more, and I am really so much obliged for your kindness to Beatrix. I am, indeed."
So he took her hand, and kissed it.