e must go through with the Norway business.
Meantime James was waiting for her.

She stood by the library table while James, back to the fireplace,
lifted his head and watched her through cigar-smoke. He had no mercy
for her at this moment. Suspicions thronged his darkened mind. But
nothing of her rueful beauty escaped him. The flush of sleep was upon
her, and her eyes were full of trouble.

"It isn't that I have any reason which would appeal to you," she told
him. She faltered her tale. "I think I have been foolish--I know that
I'm very tired and worried; but--I have had presentiments."

James clicked his tongue, which he need not have done--as he knew very
well. But he had not often been arbiter of late.

"My child," he said, "really--" and annoyed her.

"Of course you are impatient. I can't help it, all the same. I am
telling you the truth. I don't know what is going to happen. I feel
afraid of something--I don't know what--"

"Run down," said James, looking keenly at her, but kindly; "end of the
season. Two days at sea will do the job for you. Anyhow, my dear, we
go." He threw himself in his deep chair, stretched his legs out and
looked at Lucy.

She was deeply disappointed; she had pictured it so differently. He
would have understood her, she had thought. But he seemed to be in his
worst mood. She stood, the picture of distressful uncertainty, hot and
wavering; her head hung, her hand moving a book about on the table. To
his surprise and great discomfort he now discerned that she was
silently crying. Tears were falling, she made no effort to stop them,
nor to conceal them. Her weakness and dismay were too much for her.
She accepted the relief, and neither knew nor cared whether he saw it.

James was not hard-hearted unless his vanity was hurt. This was the
way to touch him, as he was prepared to be touched. "My child," he
said, "why, what's the matter with you?" She shook her head, tried to
speak, failed, and went on crying.

"Lucy," said James, "come here to me." She obeyed him at once.

Something about her attitude moved him to something more than pity.
Her pretty frock and her refusal to be comforted by it; her youthful
act--for Lucy had never yet cried before him; her flushed cheeks, her
tremulous lips--what? If I could answer the question I should resolve
the problem of the flight of souls. He looked at her and knew that he
desired her above all things. A Lucy in tears was a new Lucy; a James
who c