“He thinks we are on our wedding-trip,” said Nap.

She glanced at him sharply.

“Yes, I let him have it so,” he returned.  “I never destroy a pretty illusion if I can help it.”

“What time do we start back?” said Anne, aware of burning cheeks, which he was studying with undisguised amusement.

“Would you like some ice?” he suggested.

She laughed, with something of an effort.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Nap!”

“I am sure you have never done anything so improper in all your life before,” he went on.  “What must it feel like?  P’r’aps you would have preferred me to explain the situation to him in detail?  I will have him in and do it now—­if you really think it worth while.  I shouldn’t myself, but then I seldom suffer from truthfulness in its most acute form.  It’s a tiresome disease, isn’t it?  One might almost call it dashed inconvenient on an occasion such as this.  There is only one remedy that I can suggest, and that is to pretend it’s true.”

“I am not good at pretending,” Anne answered gravely.

He laughed.  “Very true, O Queen!  Horribly true!  But I am, you know, a positive genius in that respect.  So I’m going to pretend I’m an Englishman—­of the worthy, thick-headed, bulldog breed. (I am sure you admire it; you wouldn’t be an Englishwoman if you didn’t).  And you are my devoted and adorable wife.  You needn’t look shocked.  It’s all for the sake of that chap’s morals.  Do you think I can do it?”

“I don’t want you to do it, Nap,” she said earnestly.

He dropped the subject instantly.  “Your wish is law.  There is only one other person in this world who can command my implicit obedience in this fashion.  So I hope you appreciate your power.”

“And that other is Lucas?” said Anne.

He nodded.  “Luke the irresistible!  Did you ever try to resist him?”

She shook her head with a smile.

“Take my advice then,” he said.  “Never do!  He could whip creation with his hands tied behind him.  Oh, I know you all think him mild-tempered and easy-going, more like a woman than a man.  But you wait till you’re hard up against him.  Then you’ll know what I mean when I tell you he’s colossal.”  There was a queer ring of passion in his voice as he ended.  It sounded to Anne like the half-stifled cry of a wounded animal.

Because of it she repressed the impulse to ask him what he meant.  Nevertheless, after a moment, as if impelled by some hidden force, he continued.

“There was a time when I thought of him much as you do.  And then one day there came a reckoning—­an almighty big reckoning.”  He leaned back in his chair and stared upwards, while the grim lines of his mouth tightened.  “It was down in Arizona.  We fought a duel that lasted a day and a night.  He was a worse cripple in those days than he is now, but he won out—­he won out.”  Again came the cynical drawl, covering his actual feelings as with an impenetrable veil.  “I’ve had a kind of respect for him ever since,” he said.  “One does, you know.”