"That you, Ricky? Sybil speaking. I say, are you coming down on Saturday? You've not been here for months, and we want to see you."
Eric sighed patiently before he remembered that the sigh was unlikely to carry as far as Winchester. The prophet could look for affection in his own country and in his own house; he would not find honour.
"If you feel I'm essential to the family happiness——" he began.
"You're not. But we've got some people dining on Saturday—Agnes Waring amongst others. You can bring your work with you.… Say you'll come, like a good boy, and don't be selfish."
"Well, I might," Eric answered. "Good-bye, Sybil."
"You needn't be in such a hurry! What are you doing to-night?"
"I'm being—extraordinarily—late for dinner with some people I don't know," he answered.
His sister's voice in reply was slightly aggrieved.
"I wouldn't detain you for worlds. I only wanted to know if you'd seen a full-page photograph of yourself——"
"In the 'Gallery.' Yes, I know the editor and I got him to shove it in. As my own advertising agent, I take a lot of beating. Good-bye, Sybil."