"Oh, I think Mr. Lancelot can hold his own," said Urquhart. "He'll do--with his mother to help. I don't suppose the Spartan boy differed very much from any other kind of boy. Mostly they haven't time to notice anything; but they are sharp as razors when they do." An eager note could be detected in Francis Lingen's voice, almost a crow. "Ah, you've noticed then! The mother, I mean. Mrs. Macartney. Now, there again, I think our friend overdoes the repression business. A sympathetic attitude means so much to women." "She'll get it, somewhere," said Urquhart shortly. "Well," said Lingen, "yes, I suppose so. But there are the qualifications of the martyr in Mrs. Macartney." "Greensickness," Urquhart proposed; "is that what you mean?" Lingen stared. "It had not occurred to me. But now you mention it--well, a congestion of the faculties, eh?" "I don't know anything about it," said Urquhart. "She seemed to me a fond mother, and very properly. Do you mean that Macartney neglects her?" Lingen was timid by nature. "Perhaps I went further than I should. I think that he takes a great deal for granted." "I always thought he was a supercilious ass," said Urquhart, "but I didn't know that he was a damned fool." "I say,"--Lingen was alarmed. "I say, I hope I haven't made mischief." Urquhart relieved him. "Bless you, not with me. I use a lawyer for law. He's no fool there." "No, indeed," Lingen said eagerly. "I've found him most useful. In fact, I trust him further than any man I know." "He's a good man," Urquhart said, "and he's perfectly honest. He'd sooner put you off than on, any day. That's very sound in a lawyer. But if he carries it into wedlock he's a damned fool, in my opinion." They parted on very good terms, Lingen for the Albany, Urquhart elsewhere. Meantime Lancelot, wriggling in his bed, was discussing Urquhart. "I say, Mamma," he said--a leading question--"do you think Mr. Urquhart really had two wives?" "No, darling, I really don't. I think he was pulling our legs." That was bad. "All our legs?" "All that were pullable. Certainly your two." "Perhaps he was." Lancelot sighed. "Oh, what happened to the Turk? I forgot him, thinking of his wives.... He said, 'one of my wives,' you know. He might have had six then.... I say, perhaps Mr. Urquhart is a Turk in disguise. What do you think?" Lucy was sleepy, and covered a yawn. "I don't think, darling. I can't. I'm going to bed, and you are going to sleep. Aren't you now?" "Yes, of course, yes, of course. Did I tell you about the pirate part? His ship was a brigantine ... called the _Dog Star_." "Oh, was it?" "Yes, it was. And he used to hang the chaps, sometimes for treachery, and sometimes for fun." "How horrid!" said Lucy. "Good night." "Oh, well," came through the blankets, "of course you don't understand, but I do. Good night." And he was asleep at the turn of that minute.