The boy shivered—looked at the floor, then, without raising his eyes, said good-night, and, entering his bedroom, closed the door.
As Selwyn passed back along the corridor, the door of his sister's room opened, and Austin and Nina confronted him.
"Has that damfool boy come in?" demanded his brother-in-law, anxiety making his voice tremulous under its tone of contempt.
"Yes. Leave him to me, please. Good-night"—submitting to a tender embrace from his sister—"I suppose Eileen has retired, hasn't she? It's an ungodly hour—almost sunrise."
"I don't know whether Eileen is asleep," said Nina; "she expected a word with you, I understand. But don't sit up—don't let her sit up late. We'll be a company of dreadful wrecks at breakfast, anyway."
And his sister gently closed the door while he continued on to the end of the corridor and halted before Eileen's room. A light came through the transom; he waited a moment, then knocked very softly.
"Is it you?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yes. I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No. Is Gerald here?"
"Yes, in his own room. . . . Did you wish to speak to me about anything?"