pproved--so would James
and Lancelot," she said as briskly as she might. He took no notice of
her addition. Vera Nugent, saying, "Don't let him talk too much," then
left her with him.

She began matter-of-fact enquiries, but he soon showed her that she
had not been brought in for such platitude. He played the mastery of
the invalid without hesitation.

"Oh, I'm very sick, you know. They tell me that I shall be as fit as
ever I was, if I behave--but really I don't know. I've a good deal
behind me--and not much before--so that I'm comparatively indifferent
how the thing goes.... Look here, Lucy," he said suddenly--and she
stiffened at her name--"I have to talk to you at last. It's wonderful
how we've put it off--but here it has come."

She said in low tones, "I don't see why we should talk about anything.
I would much rather not. Everything is changed now--everything."

Urquhart began with a touch of asperity ill disguised. "Might one be
allowed to enquire...?" Scared perhaps by his pomposity, he broke off:
"No, that won't do. I'll ask you simply, what has happened? You liked
me--to say no more. Now you don't. No, no, don't protest yet. Leave it
at that. Well, and then there's Macartney. Macartney didn't know you
existed. Now he doesn't see that any one else does. What has happened,
Lucy?"

She was annoyed at his _Lucy_, annoyed that she could be annoyed,
annoyed at his question, and his right to ask it--which she had given
him. Mostly, perhaps, she was annoyed because her answer must sound
ridiculous. Hateful, that such should be the lot of men and wives! She
repeated his question, "What has happened? I don't know how to tell
you. I found out, before we started--James found out-- Please don't
ask me to talk about it. Believe me when I say that everything is
changed. I can't say more than that."

He didn't move his eyes from her. She knew they were there though she
would not face them. "Everything isn't changed. I'm not changed. I
don't know that you are, although you say so." She faced him.

"Indeed, I am. I hope you'll understand that." He frowned, his fever
flushed him.

"You can't be. We can never be ordinary acquaintance. I have kissed
you--"

"You had no right--"

"You have kissed me--"

"You are cruel indeed."

"I am not cruel--I don't pretend to excuse myself. The first time--it
was the act of a cad--but I worked it all out. It couldn't fail; I
knew exactly how it would be. You would of course thi