ple to be unhappy. I'm dreadfully
sorry they are. I don't want to have to think about them. Why can't they
be happy? There are so many nice things all about. 'Tis such _waste_."
She looked up at Urquhart, and her eyes laughed because he was happy and
clean, and shone like a new pin.

"It's nicest," she said, "to be happy and clean. And it's not bad to be
happy and dirty; or _very_ bad to be unhappy and clean; but ..." She shut
her lips with a funny distaste on the remaining alternative. "And I'm
horribly afraid Felicity's going to get engaged to Mr. Malyon, that young
one talking to her, do you see? He helps with conspiracies in Poland."

"But he's quite clean," said Urquhart, looking at him.

Lucy admitted that. "But he'll get sent to Siberia soon, don't you see,
and Felicity will go too, I know."

Peter said, "If I was Felicity I'd marry Leslie; I wouldn't hesitate for
a moment. I wish it was me he loved so. Fancy marrying into all those
lovely things I'm getting for him. Only I hope she won't, because then
she'd take over the shopping department, and I should be left unemployed.
Oh, Lucy, he's let me buy him the heavenliest pair of Chelsea
_jardinieres_, shaped like orange-tubs, with Cupids painted on blue
panels. You must come and see them soon."

Lucy's eyes, seeing the delightful things, widened and danced. She loved
the things Peter bought.

Suddenly Peter, who had a conscience somewhere, felt a pang in it, and,
to ease it, regretfully left the corner and wandered about among his
uncle's friends, being pleasant and telling them the time. He did that
till the last of them had departed. Urquhart then had to depart also, and
Peter was alone with his relatives. It was only after Urquhart had gone
that Peter realised fully what a very curious and incongruous element he
had been in the room. Realising it suddenly, he laughed, and Lucy laughed
too. Felicity looked at them indulgently.

"Babies. What's the matter now?"

"Only Denis," explained Peter.

"That young man," commented Dermot Hope, without approbation, "is
remarkably well-fed, well-bred, and well-dressed. Why do you take him
about with you?"

"That's just why, isn't it, Peter," put in Lucy. "Peter and I _like_
people to be well-fed and well-bred and well-dressed."

Felicity touched her chin, with her indulgent smile.

"Baby again. You like no such thing. You'd get tired of it in a week."

"Oh, well," said Lucy, "a week's a long time."

"He's go