s, who had recovered his composure, "yes, my dear; but
he gives you the accent in polis."

"Does he though? I'm afraid that was beyond me." She paused to beam
at James. "That pleases you?"

"It's a sign of grace, certainly." So the squall blew over.

James was dining out somewhere, so the sisters had a short dinner and
a very long evening by the fire. Lucy dallied with her great news
until Crewdson had served the coffee--then out it came, with
inordinate and delightful delicacy of approach. Mabel's eyes
throughout were fixed upon her face.... "And of course, naturally--"
Here Lucy turned away her own. "But nothing--not a sign. Neither then
nor since. I--"; she stopped, bit her lip, then broke forth. "I shall
never understand it. Oh, I do think it extraordinary!"

Mabel said at once, "It's not at all extraordinary. It would be with
any one else; but not with James."

Lucy lifted her head. "What do you mean, Mabel?"

"Well, it's difficult to explain. You are so odd about James. He is
either the sort of being you name in a whisper--or makes you edgy all
over--like a slate-pencil. But James--I dare say you haven't noticed
it: you think he's a clever man, and so he may be; but really he has
never grown up."

Lucy's foot began to rock. "My dear girl, really--"

"Oh, I know. I know. Of course you're annoyed, especially after such a
queer experience. We won't discuss it--it will be useless. But that's
my opinion, you know. I think that he was completely successful,
according to his own ideas." The battle raged; I need not add that the
mystery, far from being undiscussed, was driven up and down the field
of possibility till a late hour; nor that Mabel held to her position,
in high disparagement, as Lucy felt, of Lancelot, deeply involved.

An upshot, and a shrewd one, was Mabel's abrupt, "Well, what are you
going to do now? I mean, supposing he does it again?"

Lucy mused. "I don't somehow think he will, for a long time." She
added naively, "I wish he would. I like it."

Mabel understood her. "You mean that you like him for doing it." And
dreamy Lucy nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. I do, awfully."

Mabel here kissed Lucy. "Dearest, you're wonderfully sweet. You would
love anybody who loved you."

"I don't think I would," Lucy said, "but I should certainly have loved
James more if he had ever seemed to love me. And I can't possibly
doubt that he did that day that Lancelot went back. What bothers me is
th