“Nina’s good enough to want me for a few days—­” began Selwyn, but his big brother-in-law laughed scornfully: 

“A few days!  We’ve got you now!” And to his wife:  “Nina, I suppose I’m due to lean over those infernal kids before I can have a minute with your brother.  Are they in bed yet?  All right, Phil; we’ll be down in a minute; there’s tea and things in the library.  Make Eileen give you some.”

He turned, unaffectedly taking his pretty wife’s hand in his large florid paw, and Selwyn, intensely amused, saw them making for the nursery absorbed in conjugal confab.  He lingered to watch them go their way, until they disappeared; and he stood a moment longer alone there in the hallway; then the humour faded from his sun-burnt face; he swung wearily on his heel, and descended the stairway, his hand heavy on the velvet rail.

The library was large and comfortable, full of agreeably wadded corners and fat, helpless chairs—­a big, inviting place, solidly satisfying in dull reds and mahogany.  The porcelain of tea paraphernalia caught the glow of the fire; a reading lamp burned on a centre table, shedding subdued lustre over ceiling, walls, books, and over the floor where lay a few ancient rugs of Beloochistan, themselves full of mysterious, sombre fire.

Hands clasped behind his back, he stood in the centre of the room, considering his environment with the grave, absent air habitual to him when brooding.  And, as he stood there, a sound at the door aroused him, and he turned to confront a young girl in hat, veil, and furs, who was leisurely advancing toward him, stripping the gloves from a pair of very white hands.

“How do you do, Captain Selwyn,” she said.  “I am Eileen Erroll and I am commissioned to give you some tea.  Nina and Austin are in the nursery telling bedtime stories and hearing assorted prayers.  The children seem to be quite crazy about you—­” She unfastened her veil, threw back stole and coat, and, rolling up her gloves on her wrists, seated herself by the table. “—­Quite crazy about you,” she continued, “and you’re to be included in bedtime prayers, I believe—­No sugar?  Lemon?—­Drina’s mad about you and threatens to give you her new maltese puppy.  I congratulate you on your popularity.”

“Did you see me in the nursery on all fours?” inquired Selwyn, recognising her bronze-red hair.

Unfeigned laughter was his answer.  He laughed, too, not very heartily.

“My first glimpse of our legendary nursery warrior was certainly astonishing,” she said, looking around at him with frank malice.  Then, quickly:  “But you don’t mind, do you?  It’s all in the family, of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed with good grace; “no use to pretend dignity here; you all see through me in a few moments.”

She had given him his tea.  Now she sat upright in her chair, smiling, distraite, her hat casting a luminous shadow across her eyes; the fluffy furs, fallen from throat and shoulder, settled loosely around her waist.