d, her neck very stiff.
She was really angry, and Urquhart had sense enough to see it. She got
up to leave him, really angry, but unwilling to appear so. "You must
forget all this," she said, "and get well. Then you will do wonderful
things."

He said, "I've been a blackguard; but I meant something better."

"Oh, I am sure you did," she said warmly.

"I won't see Macartney, if he doesn't mind. Tell him from me that he's
a better man than I am."

"He won't believe you," said Lucy.

"Oh, yes, he will," Urquhart held. "Good-bye. Love to Lancelot."

That melted her. "Don't give us up. We are all your friends now."

He wouldn't have it. "No. I am a neck-or-nothing man. It can't be.
There's no cake in the cupboard. I've eaten it. Send Vera in if you
see her about. Good-bye." She left him.

* * * * *

She went through the hall, with a word to Vera, who was writing
letters there. "He asked for you."

Vera looked up at her. "He's excited, I suppose?"

"No, not now," said Lucy. Then she went into the sitting-room and saw
the party at tea on the balcony. James paused in his careful
occupations, and focussed her with his eyeglass. She went quickly to
the table.

"Oh, let me do it, let me." And then she sighed deeply.

"Hulloa," said James, knowing very well. "What's up?"

She poured the tea. "Only that I'm glad to be here."

Glances were exchanged, quick but reassuring.

Lancelot said, "There's a ripping cake. Mr. Urquhart would like some,
I bet you."

Lucy said, "He can't have any cake just yet." Upon which remark she
avoided James's eye, and eyeglass, with great care. But on a swift
afterthought she stooped and kissed Lancelot.

EPILOGUE

Really, the only fact I feel called upon to add is the following
announcement, culled from a fashionable newspaper.

"On the 3rd June," we read, "at ---- Onslow Square, to Mr. and Mrs.
James Adolphus Macartney, a daughter."

That ought to do instead of the wedding bells once demanded by the
average reader. Let it then stand for the point of my pair's
pilgrimage.

I promised a romantic James and have given you a sentimental one. It
is a most unfortunate thing that it should be thought ridiculous for a
man to fall in love with his wife, for his wife to fall in love with
him; and we have to thank, I believe, the high romanticks for it. They
must have devilry, it seems, or cayenne pepper. But I say, Scorn not
the sentimental, thoug