"Everybody knows Miss Bacchus," said the gallant man, and Miss Bacchus briskly rejoined, "More people know Tom Fool--" After that they got on excellently. Then she heard from the door, "Mr. Urquhart" and had time to turn Francis Lingen over to Lady Bliss before she faced the ruddy and blue-eyed stranger. Her first thought, the only one she had time for, was "What very blue eyes, what a very white shirt-front!" when she shook hands. "How d'ye do? You won't know who I am," he said at once. "Oh, but I do," she assured him. "James described you to me." He blinked. "Oh, did he? I suppose he told you I was a great liar?" James's very words. She nodded without speaking, but laughter flickered over her face like summer lightning. "Well," said Urquhart, "I am--to him. I've known Macartney for years--long before you did. I like him, but I think he gives himself airs. Now you can't, you know, when the man with you is a liar. You never know where to have a liar, or whether you have him or not. And then you get in a fright whether he's not having you. Macartney, saving your presence, doesn't like being had." Lucy laughed, and turned to wave her hand to Lancelot in the entry of the conservatory. "That your boy?" Urquhart asked. "But of course. He's like you--with his father's tricks." That was perfectly true. "And that's your sister, of course. Pretty woman. Like you too--you in a sunset." Perfect unconsciousness robbed this open commentary of sting. Upon him drifted Mrs. Worthington, like a peony in the tideway. Urquhart bowed. "Your servant, ma'am." She cried, "Hullo, Jimmy, you here?" "Where else?" "Why, I thought you were in Switzerland." "So I was," he said. "All among the curates. But I came back--because they didn't." He turned to Lucy. "And because I was asked here." She asked him, "Were you ski-ing? Lancelot will grudge you that." He told her, "I was not. No lonely death for me. I was bobbing it. You are swept off by dozens at a time there--by fifties in a cave. It's more cheerful." Then he seemed to remark something which he thought she ought to know. "Jimmy. You heard her? Now Macartney and I are both called James. But who ever made a Jimmy of him?" She was annoyed with him--the man seemed to suppose she could be pleased by crabbing James--and glad of Margery Dacre, a mermaid in sea-green, who swam in with apologies--due to Macartney's abhorrent eyeglass upon her. And then they all went in to their archumpelygo, where Crewdson and his ladies were waiting for them, _rari nautes_. Lucy's table--she was between the Judge and Urquhart and had Mabel, Worthington and Miss Bacchus before her--at once took the mastery. Urquhart fixed Crewdson with his eye and thenceforward commanded him. James's eyeglass, speechless with horror over Lady Bliss's shoulder, glared like a frosty moon.