"Will you keep quiet?" he whispered fiercely, snatching the sheet from the pad and crumpling it into his palm.
Sister and brother faced each other; in his eyes leaped a flame infernal which seemed to hold her paralyzed for a moment; then, with a gesture, she swept him aside, and covering her eyes with her hands, sank into a chair.
"What a fool you are!" he said furiously, bending down beside her. "It's in us both; you'll do it, too, when you are ready—if you have any sporting blood in you!"
And, straightening up impatiently, his eyes fell on Shiela, and he shrugged his shoulders and smiled resignedly.
"It's nothing. My sister's nerves are a bit upset.... After all, this parlour magic is a stupid mistake, because there's always somebody who takes it seriously. It's only humbug, anyway; you know that, don't you, Shiela?"
He untwisted the paper in his hand and held it in the candle flame until it burned to cinders.
"What was there on that paper?" asked Shiela, managing to control her voice.
"Why, merely a suggestion that I travel," he said coolly. "I can't see why my sister should make a fool of herself over the idea of my going on a journey. I've meant to, for years—to rest myself. I've told you that often, haven't I, Shiela?"
She nodded slowly, but her eyes reverted to the woman crouching in the chair, face buried in her brilliantly jewelled hands. Portlaw and Tressilvain were also staring at her.
"You'd better go to bed, Helen," said Malcourt coolly; and turned on his heel, lighting a cigarette.