It behooved him to take a strong line. This kind of raillery must be stopped. He must steer between the serious and the flippant. He hated to be pert; on the other hand, to be solemn would be offensive to Lucy--which he would not be. For James was a gentleman. "Mabel, my dear, you stretch the privileges of a guest--" a promising beginning, he thought; but Lucy pitied him plunging there, and cut all short by a way of her own. "Oh, Mabel, you are a goose. Come and take your things off, and tell me all about Peltry, and the hunting, and the new horse. Mr. Urquhart told me he was going to stay with you. Is he? I'm so glad you like him. Lancelot and I highly approve. I must show you Lancelot's letter about him. He calls him the polligamous pirate--with two _l_'s of course." "Yes," said James, who had recovered his composure, "yes, my dear; but he gives you the accent in polis." "Does he though? I'm afraid that was beyond me." She paused to beam at James. "That pleases you?" "It's a sign of grace, certainly." So the squall blew over. James was dining out somewhere, so the sisters had a short dinner and a very long evening by the fire. Lucy dallied with her great news until Crewdson had served the coffee--then out it came, with inordinate and delightful delicacy of approach. Mabel's eyes throughout were fixed upon her face.... "And of course, naturally--" Here Lucy turned away her own. "But nothing--not a sign. Neither then nor since. I--"; she stopped, bit her lip, then broke forth. "I shall never understand it. Oh, I do think it extraordinary!" Mabel said at once, "It's not at all extraordinary. It would be with any one else; but not with James." Lucy lifted her head. "What do you mean, Mabel?" "Well, it's difficult to explain. You are so odd about James. He is either the sort of being you name in a whisper--or makes you edgy all over--like a slate-pencil. But James--I dare say you haven't noticed it: you think he's a clever man, and so he may be; but really he has never grown up." Lucy's foot began to rock. "My dear girl, really--" "Oh, I know. I know. Of course you're annoyed, especially after such a queer experience. We won't discuss it--it will be useless. But that's my opinion, you know. I think that he was completely successful, according to his own ideas." The battle raged; I need not add that the mystery, far from being undiscussed, was driven up and down the field of possibility till a late hour; nor that Mabel held to her position, in high disparagement, as Lucy felt, of Lancelot, deeply involved. An upshot, and a shrewd one, was Mabel's abrupt, "Well, what are you going to do now? I mean, supposing he does it again?" Lucy mused. "I don't somehow think he will, for a long time." She added naively, "I wish he would. I like it." Mabel understood her. "You mean that you like him for doing it." And dreamy Lucy nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. I do, awfully."