went to Italy. He found Lucy in, and Urquhart was there too, talking
to her in a room full of leaping fire-shadows. Peter sat down on the
coal-scuttle (it was one of those coal-scuttles you can sit on
comfortably) and said, "Leslie's taking me to Italy on Sunday. Isn't
it nice for me. I wish he was taking you too."

Lucy, clasping small hands, said, "Oh, Peter, I wish he was!"

Urquhart, looking at her said, "Do you want to go?" and she nodded, with
her mouth tight shut as if to keep back floods of eloquence on that
subject. "So do I," said Urquhart, and added, in his casual way, "Will
you and your father come with me?"

"You paying?" said Lucy, in her frank, unabashed way like a child's; and
he smiled down at her.

"Yes. Me paying."

"'Twould be nice," she breathed, her grey eyes wide with wistful
pleasure. "I would love it. But--but father wouldn't, you know. He
wouldn't want to go, and if he did he'd want to pay for it himself,
and do it his own way, and travel third-class and be dreadfully
uncomfortable. Wouldn't he, Peter?"

Peter feared that he would.

"Thank you tremendously, all the same," said Lucy, prettily polite.

"I shall have to go by myself, then," said Urquhart. "What a bore. I
really am going, you know, sometime this spring, to stay with my uncle