there. When Peter went to see Lucy he always had a faint hope that
Urquhart would perhaps walk in, and that they would all be friendly
and happy together in the old way, for one afternoon. It hadn't happened
yet. Peter hadn't seen Urquhart since they had left Venice, two months
ago. Sunday was his day for going to see Lucy, and it wasn't Urquhart's
day, perhaps because Urquhart was so often away for week-ends; though
last Sunday, indeed, he had just left the Hopes' house when Peter
arrived.

Lucy, when Peter had told her his tale of dishonour two months ago, had
said, half laughing at him, "How _stupid_ of all of you!" She hadn't
realised quite how much it mattered. Lucy judged everything by a queer,
withdrawn standard of her own.

Peter had agreed that it had been exceedingly stupid of all of them.
Once, since then, when he heard that Urquhart had returned and had seen
Lucy, he had asked her, "Does he dislike us all very much? Is he quite
too disgusted to want to see me again?"

Lucy had wrinkled her forehead over it.

"He's not angry," she had said. "You can fancy, can't you?
Merely--merely ..."

"Detached," said Peter, who had more words, and always expressed what
Lucy meant; and she nodded. "Just that, you know." She had looked at him
wistfully, hoping he wasn't minding too horribly much.

"It's _stupid_ of him," she had said, using her favourite adjective, and
had added, dubiously, "Come and meet him sometime. You can't go on like
this; it's too silly."

Peter had shaken his head. "I won't till he wants to. I don't want to
bother him, you see."

"He does want to," Lucy had told him. "Of course he does. Only he thinks
_you_ don't. That's what's so silly."

They had left it there for the present. Some day Peter meant to walk into
Denis's rooms and say, "Don't be stupid. This can't go on." But the day
hadn't come yet. If it had been Denis who had done the shady thing and
was in penury and dishonour thereby, it would have been so simple. But
that was inconceivable; such things didn't happen to Denis; and as it was
it was not simple.

Peter got out of his hot bed on to his hot floor, and made for the
bathroom. There was only one bathroom in the boarding-house, but there
was no great competition for it, so Peter had his bath in peace, and
sang a tune in it as was his custom, and came back to his hot room and
put on his hot clothes (his less tidy clothes, because it was the day of
joy), and came down to brea