The one thing he really grudged Urquhart was his simplicity and freedom from ulterior motive. Urquhart was certainly able to enjoy the moment for the moment's worth. But James must always be calculating exactly what it was worth, and whether to be enhanced by what might follow it. He was kinder to her than he had ever been before. In fact, he was remarkably interesting. She told him of it in their solitary moments of greatest intimacy. "This is my honeymoon," she said, "and I never had one before." "Goose," said he, "don't attempt to deceive me." But she reasserted it. "It's true, James. You may have loved me in your extraordinary way, but I'm sure I didn't love you. I was much too frightened of you." "Well," he laughed, "I don't discover any terrors now." She wouldn't say that there were none. So far as she dared she was honest. "We aren't on an exact equality. We never shall be. But we are much nearer. Own it." He held her closely and kissed her. "You are a little darling, if that's what you mean." "Oh, but it isn't; it isn't at all what I mean. Why, you wouldn't call me 'little' if you didn't know you were superior. Because I'm rather tall for a woman." He knew that she was right, and respected her for the discernment. "My love," he said, "I'm a self-centred, arrogant beast, and I don't like to think about it. But you'll make something of me if you think it worth while. But listen to me, Lucy. I'm going to talk to you seriously." Then he whispered in her ear: "Some day you must talk to me." He could feel her heart beat, he could feel her shiver as she clung. "Yes," she said very low; "yes, I promise--but not now." "No," he said, "not now. I want to be happy as long as I can." She started away, and he felt her look at him in the dark. "You'll be happier when I've told you," she said. "Why do you say that?"