"I—why, of course, sir, if she says so," he stammered.

"'Says so'? Were you with her—or weren't you? If you weren't she's only shielding her brother for the hundredth time; and God knows where the car's gone to, by this time."

"Send Jacob up the road to see," Héloïse interrupted impatiently. She had meant to carry the thing off with a light hand, laughing at them all, turning the affair into a good story to be served up to future guests; they were great, at Eaglewood, on collecting good stories for social purposes. But she had been put off her balance by the expression of Lewis Tarrant's face, the intonation of his voice. Evidently he too supposed she was lying to shield her brother, and like the gentleman he was he was going to shield her; and the business was not in the least to his liking. ("Well, he knows what we're like; why does he keep on coming here?" she thought, almost putting the question aloud to him.) She swung away from both men with one of her quick rebellious movements.

"And now, for goodness' sake, Father, don't go on keeping everybody waiting for lunch. Their interest in this affair is purely one of politeness. They don't care a hang who had the car out last night, and they know it's not the first time she's broken down, especially when I've been driving her."

"No—as to that, sir, Halo's right, you know," Tarrant corroborated laughingly, and at the same moment Mrs. Spear appeared, her face brightening as she caught the echo of the laugh. But her exhilaration did not last. "I do think, Halo, we ought to have invited the Tracys here long ago," she began, the lines forming again about her eyes and mouth.

"The Tracys—the Tracys—who on earth do you mean by the Tracys?" Mr. Spear broke in, glad of a new vent for his irritation. "Not Tom Lorburn's caretakers at the Willows, I take it?"

"Why, you know, Harold, the Tracys really are related to Tom Lorburn and me, and I'm afraid we've been dreadfully distant to them, never going near them except to see whether they'd looked after the Willows properly—and now Halo says they have a young cousin from the West staying there—a painter, no, I mean a poet, who's really a genius. And so I thought … "

Mrs. Spear's confused explanation was interrupted by the convulsive splutter and angry pause of a motor outside of the house. So familiar were the sounds to all present that Héloïse merely said with a shrug: "What did I tell you?" and turned toward the dining room door, in the hope that the sight of food would cut short the investigation of her nocturnal trip.