when people were emotional.
Lucy seldom was; she had a delicious morning freshness that was like the
cool wind on the hills in spring.

"Peter never comes here, Lucy, does he. If he wanted to see me, I suppose
he would."

Lucy was looking strangely at the beautiful face with the faint flush
rising in it. She apparently thought no reply necessary to his words, but
said again, "_Can't_ you, Denis? Or is it too hard, too much bother, too
much stepping out of the way?"

"Oh, it's not the bother, of course. But ... but I really don't see
anything to be gained by it, that's the fact.... Our meetings, on the
last few occasions when we have met, haven't been particularly
comfortable. I don't think Peter likes them any better than I do.... One
can't force intercourse, Lucy; if it doesn't run easily and smoothly, it
had better be left alone. There have been things between us, between
Peter's family and my family, that can't be forgotten or put aside by
either of us, I suppose; and I don't think Peter wants to be reminded of
them by seeing me any more than I do by seeing him. It's--it's so beastly
uncomfortable, you know," he added boyishly, ruffling up his hair with
his hand; and concluded didactically, "People _must_ drift apart if their
ways lie in quite different spheres; it's inevitable."

Denis, who had a boyish reticence, had expanded and explained himself
more than usual.

Lucy's hand dropped from his knee on to her own.

"I suppose it _is_ inevitable," she said, beneath her breath. "I
suppose the distance is too great. 'Tis such a long, long way from
here to there ... such a long, long way.... Good-night, Denis; I'm
going to bed."

She got up slowly, cramped and tired and pale. It was not till she was
on her feet that she saw Lord Evelyn sitting in the background, and
remembered his presence. She had forgotten him; she had been thinking
only of Denis and Peter and herself. She didn't know if he had been
listening much; he sat quietly, nursing his knee, saying nothing.

But when Lucy had gone he said to Denis, "You're right, Denis; you're
utterly right, not to have anything to do with those swindlers," and, as
if in a sudden fresh anger against them, he began again his quick, uneven
pacing down the room.

"False through and through," he muttered. "False through and through."

Lucy's face, as she had risen to her feet and said "Good night, Uncle
Evelyn," had been so like Peter's as he had last seen it, when Pete