arn from you, whose
frugality is part of your charm. One can't imagine too much Lucy."

"Ah, don't be sure," she cautioned him. "Ask James."

"I shall. I'm quite equal to that. I'll ask him to-day. He's to be at
an idiotic luncheon, to which I'm fool enough to be going.
Marchionesses and all the rest of it."

"How can you go to such things when you might be--flying?"

"Earning your displeasure? Oh, I know, I know. I didn't know how to
refuse Mallet. He seemed to want me. I was flattered. As a matter of
fact--I _have_ flown."

"Alone?"

"Good Lord, no. I had an expert there. He let me have the levers. I
had an illusion. But I always do."

"Do tell me your illusion."

"I thought that I could sing."

"You did sing, I'm sure."

"I might have. One miracle the more. As for the machine--it wasn't a
machine, it was a living spirit."

"A male spirit or a female spirit?"

"Female, I think. Anyhow I addressed it as such."

"What did you say to her?"

"I said, 'You darling.'"

That startled her, if you like! She looked frightened, then coloured
deeply. Urquhart seemed full of his own thoughts.

"How's Lancelot?" he asked her.

That helped her. "Oh, he delights me. Another 'living spirit.' He
never fails to ask after you."

"Stout chap."

"He harps on your story. The first you ever told us. This time he put
in his postscript, 'How is Wives and Co?'"

He nodded. "Very good. I begat an immortal. That tale will never die.
He'll tell it to his grandchildren."

They stood, or strolled at ease, by the railings, she within them, he
holding his horse outside them. The tulips were adjudged, names taken,
colours approved.

"You'll see mine," he said, "in ten days. Do you realise that?"

She was radiant. "I should think so. That has simply got to happen.
Are you going to have other people there?"

"Vera," he said, "and her man, and I rather think Considine, her man's
brother. Fat and friendly, with a beard, and knows a good deal about
machines, one way and another. I want his advice about hydroplanes,
among other things. You'll like him."

"Why shall I like him?"

"Because he's himself. He has no manners at all, only feelings. Nice
feelings. That's much better than manners."

"Yes, I dare say they are." She thought about it. "There's a
difference between manner and manners."

"Oh, rather. The more manner you have the less manners."

"Yes, I meant that. But even manners don't imply feelings, do they?"