"Come in, my good brother!" he said. "My lady is just about to make tea.
I presume that is what you have come for."
"The presumption is correct," said Scott.
He came forward in his quiet, unhurried fashion, and paused at the table to open the tea-caddy for Dinah.
She thanked him with trembling lips, her eyes cast down, her face on fire.
Eustace lounged back on the settee and watched her. He frowned momentarily when Scott sat down beside him, leaving her a low chair by the tea-tray.
Dinah's hands fluttered among the cups. She was painfully ill at ease. But in a second or two Scott's placid voice came into the silence, and at once her distress began to subside.
"Have you decided about the decoration of this room yet?" he asked. "I always thought this dead-white rather cold."
"Dinah is to have her own choice," said Sir Eustace.
"I would like shell-pink," said Dinah, without looking up. "Don't you think that would be nice with those pretty water-colour sketches?"
She spoke diffidently. No one had ever deferred to her taste before.