if not his nature. James bought marvellous climbing
boots, binoculars, compasses of dodgy contrivance, sandwich-cases,
drinking-flasks, a knowing hat. He read about Norway, studied a
dictionary, and ended by talking about it, and all to do with it,
without any pragmatism. Lucy found out how he relied upon Urquhart and
sometimes forgot that he was jealous of him. Jealous he was, but not
without hope. For one thing, he liked a fight, with a good man. Lingen
caught the epidemic, and ceased to think or talk about himself. He had
heard of carpets to be had, of bold pattern and primary colouring; he
had heard of bridal crowns of silver-gilt worthy of any collector's
cabinet. He also bought boots and tried his elegant leg in a
flame-coloured sock. And to crown the rocking edifice, Lancelot came
home in a kind of still ecstasy which only uttered itself in
convulsions of the limbs, and sudden and ear-piercing whistles through
the fingers. From him above all she gained assurance. "Oh, Mr.
Urquhart, he'll put all that straight, I bet you--in two ticks!..."
and once it was, "I say, Mamma, I wonder where you and I would be
without Mr. Urquhart." James heard him, and saw Lucy catch her breath.
Not very pleasant.

CHAPTER XVII

THE SHIVERING FIT

They were to start on the 8th of August, and it was now the 5th.
Packing had begun, and Crewdson, as usual, was troublesome. He had the
habit of appearing before Lucy and presenting some small deficiency as
a final cause of ruin and defeat. "I can't find any of the Brown
Polish, ma'am. I don't know what Mr. Macartney will do without it."
This, or something like it, had become a classic in the family. It had
always been part of the fun of going away. But this year Lucy was
fretted by it. She supposed herself run down and whipped herself to
work. She found herself, too, lingering about the house, with an
affection for the familiar aspect of corners, vistas, tricks of light
and shadow, which she had never thought to possess. She felt extremely
unwilling to leave it all. It was safety, it was friendliness; it
asked no effort of her. To turn away from its lustrous and ordered
elegance and face the unknown gave her a pain in the heart. It was
odd to feel homesick before she had left home; but that was the sum of
it. She was homesick. Urquhart was very much in her mind; a letter of
his was in her writing-table drawer, under lock and key; but Urquhart
seemed part of a vague menace now, wh