Jarvis, a white-haired, dignified butler who had served the family man and boy, came in at this juncture with a visiting card on a salver.
Alaric picked it up and glanced at it. He gave an expression of disgust and flung the card back on the salver.
"Christian Brent."
For the first time Ethel showed more than a passing gleam of interest. She stopped strumming the piano and stood up, very erect and very still.
Mrs. Chichester rose too: "I can't see any one," she said imperatively. "Nor I," added Alaric. "I'm all strung up." He turned to Jarvis. "Tell Mr. Brent we're very sorry, but—"
"I'LL see him," interrupted Ethel, almost animatedly. "Bring Mr. Brent here, Jarvis."
As Jarvis went in search of Mr. Brent, Mrs. Chichester went up the great stairs: "My head is throbbing. I'll go to my room."
"Don't you worry, mater," consoled Alaric. "Leave everything to me. I'll thrash the whole thing out—absolutely thrash it out."
As Mrs. Chichester disappeared, Alaric turned to his calm sister, who, strangely enough, was showing some signs of life and interest.
"Awful business, Ethel, eh?"