hey looked very settled"; that had put the lid on. That was
how it was; and he had been too sharp. Well, one must make
mistakes--

He wondered what she had meant about the Opera. Why had she harped
upon that string? "You were there before Francis Lingen," she had
said--well, and then--she had been furious with him. He had said, "I
know that I was," and she, "If that is all your memory brings you--"
and off she went. He smoked hard--lifted his hand and dropped it
smartly to his mantelpiece. No; that was a thing no man could fathom.
A Lucyism--quite clear to herself, no doubt. Well, he'd leave that
alone. The more one tried to bottom those waters, the less one fished
up. But he would make peace with her after dinner.

He heard, "Mrs. Macartney is not dining this evening; she has a bad
headache, and doesn't wish to be disturbed," received it with a curt
nod, and accepted it simply. Better to take women at their word. Her
troubles would have simmered down by the morning, whereas if he were
to go up now, one of two things: either she'd be angry enough to let
him batter at the door to no purpose--and feel an ass for his pains;
or she would let him in, and make a fuss--in which case he would feel
still more of an ass. "Ask Mrs. Macartney if I can do anything," he
had said to Smithers, and was answered, "I think Mrs. Macartney is
asleep, sir." He hoped she was. That would do her a world of good.

Morning. In the breakfast-room he faced a Lucy self-possessed, with
guarded eyes, and, if he could have seen it, with implied reproach
stiffening every line of her. Her generosity gratified him, but should
have touched him keenly. She came to him at once, and put up her face.
"I'm sorry I was so cross, James." His immediate feeling, I say, was
one of gratification. That was all right. She had come in. To that
succeeded a wave of kindness. He dropped his glass, and took her
strongly in his arms. "Dearest, I behaved very badly. I'm truly
sorry." He kissed her, and for a moment she clung to him, but avoided
his further kisses. Yet he had kissed her as a man should. She had
nothing more to say, but he felt it her due that he should add
something while yet he held her. "As for poor Francis--I know that I
was absurd--I admit it frankly." He felt her shake and guessed her
indignation. "You'll believe me, dear. You know I don't like owning
myself a fool." Then she had looked up, still in his arms--"Why
should you be so stupid? How can you p