At half-past eight, Sturry appeared to announce dinner, saw that his master was not present, and went away again, looking affronted. Joseph said hopefully that he was sure Nat would be down in a minute, but when ten minutes had elapsed, he said that Nat must have forgotten the time, and suggested to Stephen that he should go upstairs to fetch his uncle down.

Stephen was pouring himself out another glass of sherry, and replied with his customary brusqueness that if Joe was so anxious for Nat’s presence he had better go and fetch him for himself.

‘Come, come, Stephen!’ said Mottisfont. ‘Not very civil of you, eh, my boy?’

‘Oh, I don’t pay any heed to that old bear of a nephew of mine!’ Joseph said sunnily. ‘Stephen and I understand one another. Paula dear, suppose you were just to run up, and tap on your uncle’s door?’

‘No, thank you!’ Paula said, with an angry little laugh. ‘I’ve already tried that, because I wanted to speak to him, but he wouldn’t even answer.’

Stephen grinned. ‘No flies on Uncle Nat. Let’s go in to dinner.’

Valerie looked as though Nathaniel’s absence from his board would be a relief to her, but said: ‘Oh, but we can’t, without Mr Herriard, can we?’

‘What a nice sense of convention you have, my pretty!’ said Stephen.

‘You’re a set of lazybones!’ Joseph told them. ‘I see I shall have to trot up myself.’

‘I didn’t phrase it quite like that, but you’ve interpreted my meaning correctly,’ said Stephen.

Paula gave an unwilling laugh, but said, as Joseph left the room: ‘You’re in a sweet mood, brother!’

‘Matching yours, sister,’ he replied, smiling at her with an amiability belied by his shut teeth.

‘I think I’m suffering from an overdose of Herriard,’ said Mathilda.

Maud, who had abandoned the search for her book, and was seated in her usual place beside the fire, looked up fleetingly from Stephen and his sister to Mathilda. Her face was expressionless, but she moved her plump little hands, clasping them in her lap rather tightly.

‘I wonder how you stand it, Maud,’ Mathilda said.

‘I’m used to it, dear,’ Maud replied.

Joseph’s voice was heard calling to Stephen from the head of the stairs. ‘Stephen, old chap, just come here a minute, will you?’

Edgar Mottisfont said: ‘Oh dear! I hope nothing’s wrong!’

‘What should be wrong?’ said Stephen, strolling to the door. ‘What do you want, Joe?’

‘Come up, my boy, will you?’

He shrugged, and went out.

‘What can be the matter?’ wondered Valerie. ‘Do you suppose Mr Herriard’s ill, or something?’

‘Ill? Why should he be? He was perfectly well when I saw him last,’ said Mottisfont.

‘My lumbago,’ murmured Mathilda.

Stephen, leisurely mounting the stairs, found Joseph, and Nathaniel’s valet, Ford, standing outside Nathaniel’s door. They both looked worried. Stephen said, ‘Well, what’s wrong?’

‘Stephen, my boy, I don’t quite like it,’ Joseph replied. ‘Nat doesn’t answer my knock and Ford tells me he didn’t answer his, half an hour ago.’