talked too much, I thought."

"My dear James,"--she was nettled--"you really are--"

He looked up; the eyeglass hovered in his hand. "_Plait-il_?"

"Nothing. I only thought that you were hard to please."

"Really? Because I think a man too vivacious?"

Lancelot said to his porridge-bowl, over the spoon, "I think he's
ripping."

"You've hit it," said his father. "He'd rip up anybody."

Lucy, piqued upon her tender part, was provoked into what she always
avoided if she could--acrimony at breakfast.

"I was hostess, you see; and I must say that the more people talk the
more I am obliged to them. I suppose that you asked Mr. Urquhart so
that he might be amusing...."

James's head lifted again. You could see it over the _Morning Post_.
"I asked Urquhart for quite other reasons, you remember."

"I don't know what they were," said Lucy. "My own reason was that he
should make things go. 'A party in a parlour...'" She bit her lip. The
_Morning Post_ quivered but recovered itself.

"What was the party in a parlour, Mamma? Do tell me." That was
Lancelot, with a _flair_ for mischief.

"It was 'all silent and all damned,'" said Lucy.

"Jolly party," said Lancelot. "Not like yours, though." The _Morning
Post_ clacked like a bellying sail, then bore forward over an even
keel. Lucy, beckoning Lancelot, left the breakfast-room.

She was ruffled, and so much so that Lancelot noticed it, and, being
the very soul of tact where she was concerned, spoke neither of his
father nor of Urquhart all the morning. In the afternoon the weather
seemed more settled, and he allowed himself more play. He would like
to see Mr. Urquhart on horseback, in a battle, he thought. He expected
he'd be like Henry of Navarre. Lucy thought that he might be. Would he
wear a white plume though? Much head-shaking over this. "Bareheaded, I
bet you. He's just that sort. Dashing about! Absolutely
reckless!--frightfully dangerous!--a smoking sword!--going like one
o'clock! Oh, I bet you what you like." Then with startling conviction,
"Father doesn't like him. Feels scored off, I expect. He wasn't
though, but he might be, all the same ... I think Father always
expects he's going to be scored off, don't you? At any minute." Lucy
set herself to combat this hazard, which was very amusing and by no
means a bad shot. Poor James! What a pity it was that he couldn't let
himself like anybody. It was true--it was quite true--he was afraid
of being scored off. She h