the hour, on his course, never jamming, or heaving up,
monotonous but soothing. And as for implications--! Good Heavens, he
was stuffed with them like a Michaelmas goose.... "I do so wish that
you could talk with her. You could do so much to straighten things out
for the poor child. You are so wise. There's a kind of balm in your
touch upon life, something that's aromatic and healing at once.
_Sainfoin_, the healing herb--that should be your emblem. I have
always thought so. By the by, have you an emblem? I wish you'd let me
find you one. Old Gerrard will give it me--and I will give it to you.
Some patient, nimble-fingered good soul has coloured my copy. You
shall have it faithfully rendered; and it shall be framed by Le Notre
of Vigo Street--do you know his work? You must--and stand on your
writing-table.... I see you are shaping a protest. Frugality? Another
of your shining qualities. Not of mine? No, no. I admire it in you. It
is not a manly virtue. A 'frugal swain' means a harassed wife. Now,
confess. Would you have me board? I believe I would do it if you asked
me...." Not very exciting, all this; but if you want implications--!

It was while this was going on that Lancelot, hovering and full of
purpose, annexed Urquhart. The Judge, suddenly aware of him between
them, put a hand upon his head as you might fondle the top of a
pedestal--which Lancelot, intent upon his prey, endured. Then his
moment came, a decent subsidence of anecdotes, and his upturned eyes
caught Urquhart's.

"I say, will you come and see my orange-tree? It's just over there,
in the conservatory. It's rather interesting--to me, you know."

Urquhart considered the proposition. "Yes," he said, "I'll do that."
And they went off, Lancelot on tiptoe. Lucy's attention strayed.

The orange-tree was exhibited, made the most of; its history was
related. There was nothing more to say about it. Lancelot, his purpose
growing, gave a nervous laugh.

"No Turk could hide in that, I expect," he said, and trembled.
Urquhart gazed at the weedy little growth.

"No," he said, "he couldn't--yet. But a ladybird could." He picked out
a dormant specimen. But Lancelot was now committed to action beyond
recall. The words burned his lips. "I say," he said, twiddling a leaf
of his orange-tree, "I expect you've been a pirate?"

The Judge had wandered in, and was surveying the pair, his hands deep
in his trousers-pockets.

Urquhart nodded. "You've bit it," he said.