Roddy sat where she had left him. Through the window he saw the scattered trees on Primrose Hill and the grass still green on account of the long wet season. A heavy bank of thunder clouds, lined with a pale coppery light, hung suspended against the blue and the boy was lost in a dream of colour.
Suddenly he gave a start. An angry look came into his eyes. He got up hurriedly, left the room and on noiseless feet crossed the hall.
Carefully he opened the door.
"Don't ring!" he checked the caller. "What do you want? Mother's asleep." He looked back with defiance at Stephen.
"I've come round to inquire for her."
Somerfield coolly passed the boy, hung up his hat on the stand, straightening his tie in the glass, with a smile at his languid reflexion.
"Don't make a row then," Roddy whispered. "I suppose you'd better come into the dining-room——" He closed the door softly behind them.
"How is Mrs. Uniacke?"
Stephen sauntered to the sideboard, opened a box standing there and helped himself to a cigarette.
Roddy watched him with a scowl.