"Oh, don't trouble! I'm going to turn up," very calmly Scott made rejoinder. He had already begun to write; his hand moved steadily across the sheet.
Sir Eustace's frown deepened. "You won't catch the post with those letters if you do."
Scott looked up at last, and his eyes were as steady as his hand had been. "That's my business, old chap," he said quietly. "Don't you worry yourself about that!"
There was a hint of ferocity about Sir Eustace as he met that steadfast look. He stood motionless for a moment or two, then flung round on his heel. Scott returned to his work with the composure characteristic of him, and almost immediately the banging of the door told of his brother's departure.
Then for a second his hand paused; he passed the other across his eyes with the old gesture of weariness, and a short, hard sigh came from him ere he bent again to his task.
Sir Eustace strode across the hall with the frown still drawing his brows. An open car was waiting at the door, but ere he went to it he turned aside and knocked peremptorily at another door.
He opened without waiting for a reply and entered a long, low-ceiled room through which the rays of the afternoon sun were pouring. Isabel, lying on a couch between fire and window, turned her head towards him.
"Haven't you started yet? Surely it is getting very late," she said in her low, rather monotonous voice.
He came to her. "I prefer starting a bit late," he said. "You will have tea ready when we return?"
"Certainly," she said.