Lancelot led the way back, but at the entry of the drawing-room, where the talk was buzzing like bees in a lime-tree, he put his hand on the switch, and showed the whites of his eyes. "Shall I dare you to switch it off?" he said to Urquhart, who replied, "Don't, or I shall do it." Lancelot and he entered the room; but before the Judge followed there was a momentary flicker of the lights. Lancelot nudged Urquhart. "_He's_ all right," he said out of one corner of his mouth. "Oh, he's all right," Urquhart agreed. They both went to Lucy, and Lingen looked mildly round, interrupted in his flow. Lancelot's greeting was, "Darling, you really must go to bed." He knew it. It was so obvious--the abhorrent eyeglass apart--that he didn't even try the pathetic "Only a week before school." He got up, enquiring of his mother if she would swear to come up presently. "Well, good-bye," he said to Urquhart, and held out his hand. "Good night to you," said Urquhart. "Anyhow, you know the worst." But Lancelot shook his cautious head. "No," he said, "not the worst"--and then with a deep chuckle, "but the best. Hoho! Two wives!" With that he went. "Jolly chap," said Urquhart, and sat himself down by Lucy, to Lingen's inexpressible weariness. She warmed to his praise, but denied him, her conscience at work. "No, you mustn't sit down. I shall take you to talk to Lady Bliss. You'll like her." "No, I shan't," he said. "I can see that. And she'll think I've corrupted her husband." But he had to go. Lingen, also, she recruited for service. He had had a good innings and found himself able to be enthusiastic about Urquhart. He could bear to discuss him--in possible relations with himself, of course. Miss Bacchus sized him up aloud, according to her habit. "Jimmy Urquhart--a good man? Yes, he's a live man. No flies on Jimmy Urquhart. Been everywhere, had a bit of most things. Why, I suppose Jimmy has eaten more things than you've ever read about." "I've read Brillat-Savarin," said Lingen modestly. "I dare say Jimmy's had a notch out of _him_," said Miss Bacchus. "He's what I call a blade." Lingen didn't ask her what she called him. CHAPTER IV AFTER-TALK Nevertheless the two men talked down to Knightsbridge together, and Lingen did most of the talking. He chose to expand upon Macartney, the nearest he dared get to the subject of his thoughts. "Now Macartney, you know, is a very self-contained man. No doubt you've noticed how he shies at expression. Chilling at times. Good in a lawyer, no doubt. You get the idea of large reserves. But perhaps as a--well, as a father, for instance-- That bright boy of theirs now. You may have noticed how little there is between them. What do you think of the Spartan parent--in these days?"