"Let me point out to you that there is no fire in this room, and that you could both discuss me in greater comfort elsewhere!" snapped Stephen.
Mrs. Dean's eyes might acquire a steely look, but her smile remained. She said: "You conceited boy, to think I should waste my time discussing you! I have much more important things to do! Indeed, I must unpack the few bits and pieces I brought with me, and just tidy myself a little after the journey."
Joseph at once offered to escort her to her room, and led her away before Stephen could say something even more outrageous. In the hall, Valerie, now clad in the navy-blue suit which her mother thought more proper to the occasion than priMr.ose-yellow, was flirting mildly with Roydon. As Roydon's mind was preoccupied with the possible consequences of Nathaniel's murder, the flirtation was a desultory affair, but the sight of her daughter, tete-a-tete with a young man whom one glance assured her was ineligible, made Mrs. Dean intervene at once. She said that she wanted her girlie to come up and help her to unpack.
"Oh, Mummy, why on earth?" said Valerie petulantly. "The housemaid will do all that."
"No, my pet; you know Mummy never likes the servants to meddle with her things," said Mrs. Dean. "Come along!"
"Oh, all right!" said Valerie sulkily. "See you later, Willoughby!"
Once in the seclusion of the Blue Room, which was a spacious if somewhat sombre apartment over the library, Mrs. Dean wasted no time in beating about the bush, but asked abruptly: "Who is that young man, Val?"
"Willoughby? He's a playwright. He's written the most marvellous play called Wormwood. He read it to us yesterday."
"I've never heard of him," said Mrs. Dean.
"Well, he hasn't actually had anything put on yet, but he's frightfully brilliant, and I expect Wormwood will run for simply years!"