“Really, Derek,” said Lady O’Callaghan, “I think you are unreasonable. I merely asked that unfortunate youth if you had received any letter that might account for your otherwise rather unaccountable behaviour. He said a letter in this evening’s mail seemed to upset you. What was this letter, Derek? Was it another threat from these people—these anarchists or whatever they are?”

He was not so angry that he did not hear an unusual note in her voice.

“Such threats are an intolerable impertinence,” she said hastily. “I cannot understand why you do not deal with these people.”

“The letter had nothing whatever to do with them, and my ‘unaccountable behaviour,’ as you call it, has nothing to do with the letter. I am unwell and I’m worried. It may satisfy you to hear that John Phillips is coming in this evening.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

The front door bell sounded. They looked at each other questioningly.

“Ruth?” murmured Lady O’Callaghan.

“I’m off,” he said quickly. Suddenly he felt more friendly towards her. “You’d better bolt, Cicely,” he said.

She moved swiftly into his study and he followed her. They heard Nash come out and open the door. They listened, almost in sympathy with each other.

“Sir Derek and my lady are not at home, madam.”

“But there’s a light in the study!”

They exchanged horrified glances.

“Perhaps Mr. Jameson—” said Nash.

“Just the man I want to see.”

They heard Nash bleating in dismay and the sound of Miss Ruth O’Callaghan’s umbrella being rammed home in the ship’s bucket. With one accord they walked over to the fireplace. Lady O’Callaghan lit a cigarette.

The door opened, and Ruth came in. They had a brief glimpse of Nash’s agonised countenance and then were overwhelmed in embraces.

“There you are, darlings. Nash said you were out.”

“We’re only ‘not at home,’ Ruth darling,” said Lady O’Callaghan, very tranquilly. “Derek expects his doctor. It was too stupid of Nash not to realise you were different.”

“Ah-ha,” said Ruth, with really terrifying gaiety, “you don’t defeat your old sister like that. Now, Derry darling, I’ve come especially to see you, and I shall be very cross and dreadfully hurt if you don’t do exactly what I tell you.”

She rummaged in an enormous handbag, and fetched up out of its depths the familiar sealed white parcel.

“Really, Ruth, I can not swallow every patent medicine that commends itself to your attention.”

“I don’t want you to do that, darling. I know you think your old sister’s a silly-billy”—she squinted playfully at him-“but she knows what’s good for her big, famous brother. Cicely, he’ll listen to you. Please, please, persuade him to take just one of these teeny little powders. They’re too marvellous. You’ve only to read the letters—”