“My dear child,” I said lazily, “everything finds its level. We were bound to rise. You and I, Sibella, are very wonderful people.”
“And Lionel?”
“Lionel is not in the least wonderful. He is good-looking, but by himself he would never have wheeled the shortest flight above the ordinary.”
“I won’t have you talking against my husband.”
“I am not talking against him. I have rather an affection for Lionel. He is your husband.”
“It is sometimes borne in upon me, Israel, and I cannot say why, that you are extraordinarily wicked.”
“What makes you think that?”
“There is something mysterious about you. There always was even as a boy, and it has grown with you.”
I did not like to hear this. Above all people, a secret murderer cannot afford to suggest the mysterious.
“Do you remember what a pretty little boy you were?” she asked.