Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. Eh bien, they would see about this. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality.
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