"And why didn't you?"

"Well, you know, one gets rather crowded up with things in term time."

Lucia looked thoughtfully at the refined, luxurious figure in the
hammock. Horace was entitled to the hammock, for he had been ill. He
was entitled also to the ministrations of his cousin Lucia. Lucia
spent her time in planning and doing kind things, and, from the sudden
luminous sweetness of her face, he gathered that something of the sort
was in preparation now.

It was. "Horace," she said, "would you like to ask him here?"

"No, Lucy, I wouldn't. I don't think it would do."

"But why not--if he's your friend?"

"If he's my friend."

"You _said_ he was your friend. You did, you know." (Another awkward
consequence of a cousin's adoration; she is apt to remember and attach
importance to your most trivial utterances.)

"Pardon me, I said he was my find."

"Where did you find him?"

"I found him in the City--in a shop."

She smiled at the rhythmic utterance. The tragedy of the revelation