"It's all right," he said indifferently. "Not even a lick of smoke. But," he added, looking narrowly at Janet, "if Mr Brand wishes it I will send a man I can trust to revarnish it."
"Thank you," said Janet.
"Here is my card," he continued, still looking at her.
"Thank you," said Janet again, wondering when they would go.
"You are, no doubt, a relation of the Brands?" he continued desperately.
"I am a friend."
"I will come and see Mr Brand about the picture," continued the young man, stammering. "May I ask you to be so kind as to tell him so?"
"I will tell him," said Janet; and she became very pale. While this man was manufacturing conversation Cuckoo was dying—was dying, waiting with her eyes on the door. She turned instinctively to Stephen for help.
But he had forgotten her. He was looking intently at the dead bird in the cage, was touching its sleek head with a large gentle finger.