"You're mighty clever, my son, aren't you?" said Eustace with a supercilious twist of the lips. "But—as it chances—not one of those excellent reasons appeals to me."
"Very well then," said Scott, with the utmost patience. "It is up to you to accept."
"Why should Isabel prefer Great Mallowes?" demanded Sir Eustace. "She knows the de Vignes. It is far better for her to see people, and there is more comfort in a private house than in a hotel."
"Quite so," said Scott. "I am sure she will fall in with your wishes in this respect, whatever they are. Will you write to Colonel de Vigne, or shall I?"
"You can—and accept," returned Sir Eustace imperially.
Scott took a sheet of paper without further words.
His brother leaned back in his chair, his black brows slightly drawn, and contemplated him as he did it.
"By the way, Scott," he said, after a moment, "Dinah's staying here need not make any difference to you in any way. She can't expect to have you at her beck and call as she had in Switzerland. You must make that clear to her."
"Very well, old chap." Scott spoke without raising his head. "You're going to meet her at the station, I suppose?"
"Almost immediately, yes." Eustace got up with a movement of suppressed impatience. "We shall have tea in Isabel's room. You needn't turn up. I'll tell them to send yours in here."