“I don’t like the idea, father. If I were his father it would be dreadful to have him coming in that—in that—”
“On the installment plan,” suggested Hawkins, gravely, and proud of being able to help.
“Yes—dreadful to have him coming in that incoherent way. There would be the strain of suspense upon me all the time. To have so depressing a thing as a funeral impending, delayed, waiting, unaccomplished—”
“Oh, no, my child,” said the earl reassuringly, “there would be nothing of that kind; so old a gentleman could not endure a long-drawn suspense like that. There will be three funerals.”
Lady Rossmore looked up surprised, and said:
“How is that going to make it easier for him? It’s a total mistake, to my mind. He ought to be buried all at once; I’m sure of it.”
“I should think so, too,” said Hawkins.
“And certainly I should,” said the daughter.
“You are all wrong,” said the earl. “You will see it yourselves, if you think. Only one of these baskets has got him in it.”
“Very well, then,” said Lady Rossmore, “the thing is perfectly simple—bury that one.”