"No, indeed," Lingen said eagerly. "I've found him most useful. In fact, I trust him further than any man I know."
"He's a good man," Urquhart said, "and he's perfectly honest. He'd sooner put you off than on, any day. That's very sound in a lawyer. But if he carries it into wedlock he's a damned fool, in my opinion."
They parted on very good terms, Lingen for the Albany, Urquhart elsewhere.
Meantime Lancelot, wriggling in his bed, was discussing Urquhart. "I say, Mamma," he said—a leading question—"do you think Mr. Urquhart really had two wives?"
"No, darling, I really don't. I think he was pulling our legs."
That was bad. "All our legs?"
"All that were pullable. Certainly your two."
"Perhaps he was." Lancelot sighed. "Oh, what happened to the Turk? I forgot him, thinking of his wives.... He said, 'one of my wives,' you know. He might have had six then.... I say, perhaps Mr. Urquhart is a Turk in disguise. What do you think?"
Lucy was sleepy, and covered a yawn. "I don't think, darling. I can't. I'm going to bed, and you are going to sleep. Aren't you now?"
"Yes, of course, yes, of course. Did I tell you about the pirate part? His ship was a brigantine ... called the Dog Star."