"You know," Helen said sympathetically, "I don't suppose he heard half you said or was thinking about you at all."
Rupert laughed delightedly and put his arm through hers as he picked up the bag.
"Come in. No doubt you're right."
"I believe he's really afraid of us," she added. "I should be."
As they entered the hall, they saw Miriam floating down the stairs. One hand on the rail kept time with her descent; her black dress, of airy make, fluffed from stair to stair; the white neck holding her little head was as luminous as the pearls she wanted. She paused on one foot with the other pointed.
"Where is he?" she whispered.
"Just coming out of the drawing-room," Rupert answered quickly, encouraging her. "Stay like that. Chin a little higher. Yes. You're like Beatrix Esmond coming down the stairs. Excellent!"
A touch from Helen silenced him as Mildred Caniper and her brother turned the corner of the passage. They both stood still at the sight of this dark-clad vision which rested immobile for an instant before it smiled brilliantly and finished the flight.
"This is Miriam," Mildred Caniper said in hard tones.
Miriam cast a quick, wavering glance at her and returned to meet the gaze of Uncle Alfred, who had not taken her hand. At last, seeing it outstretched, he took it limply.