he was going to kiss it but
remembered just in time that he was in England. He lowered his voice
when he spoke to women, and most of them liked it. Lucy wasn't sure
whether she did or not. It made her self-conscious and perverse at
once. She found herself wondering (a) whether he was going to make
love to her, (b) when he was going to begin, and (c) how she might
best cut him out. All this was bewildering, made her feel stupid, and
annoyed her. But she really liked Francis Lingen, and had been amused
to discover how much he was "Francis" in her private mind. Certainly
he was very elegant. He had an outside pocket to his dress coat, and a
handkerchief which you could have plugged your tooth with.

He had just said to Lucy, "I'm so glad to see you. It's more than a
week since we met--and I want your advice--" when Crewdson, like a
priest, announced Sir Matthew and Lady Bliss. The Judge and his dame
were before Lucy--the lady had a motherly soul in crimson satin and
paste, the gentleman square and solid, like a pillar-box with a bald
head. That is a pretty exact description of him. The Judge was very
square-headed, very shiny and very plain; but he was solid, and he was
useful. Macartney used to say that he had a face like a bad egg.
Certainly he was curdled--but he shone and looked healthy.

Lucy allowed herself to be mothered, and in the meantime murmured the
Judge's name and Miss Bacchus's.

"Everybody knows Miss Bacchus," said the gallant man, and Miss Bacchus
briskly rejoined, "More people know Tom Fool--" After that they got on
excellently. Then she heard from the door, "Mr. Urquhart" and had time
to turn Francis Lingen over to Lady Bliss before she faced the ruddy
and blue-eyed stranger. Her first thought, the only one she had time
for, was "What very blue eyes, what a very white shirt-front!" when
she shook hands.

"How d'ye do? You won't know who I am," he said at once.

"Oh, but I do," she assured him. "James described you to me."

He blinked. "Oh, did he? I suppose he told you I was a great liar?"

James's very words. She nodded without speaking, but laughter
flickered over her face like summer lightning.

"Well," said Urquhart, "I am--to him. I've known Macartney for
years--long before you did. I like him, but I think he gives himself
airs. Now you can't, you know, when the man with you is a liar. You
never know where to have a liar, or whether you have him or not. And
then you get in a fright whether