covered." Her eyes searched
him through and through to find his falsehood, as they had searched
him once before to find his truth. "It is very, very good of you," she
said.

"Of _me_? Am _I_ bothering you? Don't think of me except as my
father's executor."

"Did you know that he wanted you to do this, or did you only think it?
Was it really his express wish?"

He looked her in the face and lied boldly and freely. "It was.
Absolutely."

And as she met that look, so luminously, so superlatively sincere, she
knew that he had lied. "All the same," said she, "I can't take it.
Don't think it unfriendly of me. It isn't. In fact, don't you see it's
just because we have been--we are--friends that I must refuse it? I
can't take advantage of that"--she was going to say "feeling," but
thought better of it.

"And don't you see by refusing you are compelling me to be
dishonourable? If you were really my friend you would think more of my
honour than of your own scruples. Or is that asking too much?" He felt
that he had scored in this game of keen intelligences.

"No. But it would be wrong of me to let your honour be influenced by
our friendship."

"Don't think of our friendship, then. It's all pure business, as
brutally impersonal as you like."

"If I could only see it that way."

"I should have thought it was quite transparently and innocently
clear." He had scored again. For now he had taxed her with stupidity.
"If I could persuade you that it came from my father, you wouldn't
mind. You mind because you think it comes from me. Isn't that so?"

She was silent, and he knew.

"How can I persuade you? I can only repeat that I've absolutely
nothing to do with it." There was but little friendliness about him
now. His whole manner was full of weariness and irritation. "Why
should you imagine that I had?"

"Because it would have been so very like you."

"Then I must be lying abominably. Is that so very like me?"

"I have heard you do it before--once--twice--magnificently."

"When?"

"About this time nine years ago."

He remembered. The wonder was that she should have remembered too.

"I daresay. But what possible motive could I have for lying now?"

He had scored heavily this time. Far too heavily. There was a flame in
Lucia's face which did not come from the glow of the fire, a flame
that ran over her neck and forehead to the fine tips of her ears. For
she thought, supposing all the time he had been telling her th