“Only in minute quantities, Gerald,” explained Selwyn; “I just want to try a few things. . . .  And if they turn out all right, what do you say to taking a look in—­if Austin approves?”

“Oh, please, Gerald,” whispered his sister.

“Do you really believe there is anything in it?” asked the boy.  “Because, if you are sure—­”

“There certainly is if I can prove that my powder is able to resist heat, cold, and moisture.  The Lawn people stand ready to talk matters over as soon as I am satisfied. . . .  There’s plenty of time—­but keep the suggestion in the back of your head, Gerald.”

The boy smiled, nodded importantly, and went off to remove the stains of tennis from his person; and Eileen went, too, turning around to look back at Selwyn: 

“Thank you for asking Gerald!  I’m sure he will love to go into anything you think safe.”

“Will you join us, too?” he called back, smilingly—­“we may need capital!”

“I’ll remember that!” she said; and, turning once more as she reached the landing:  “Good-bye—­until luncheon!” And touched her lips with the tips of her fingers, flinging him a gay salute.

In parting and meeting—­even after the briefest of intervals—­it was always the same with her; always she had for him some informal hint of the formality of parting; always some recognition of their meeting—­in the light touching of hands as though the symbol of ceremony, at least, was due to him, to herself, and to the occasion.

Luncheon at Silverside was anything but a function—­with the children at table and the dogs in a semicircle, and the nurses tying bibs and admonishing the restless or belligerent, and the wide French windows open, and the sea wind lifting the curtains and stirring the cluster of wild flowers in the centre of the table.

Kit-Ki’s voice was gently raised at intervals; at intervals some grinning puppy, unable to longer endure the nourishing odours, lost self-control and yapped, then lowered his head, momentarily overcome with mortification.

All the children talked continuously, unlimited conversation being permitted until it led to hostilities or puppy-play.  The elders conducted such social intercourse as was possible under the conditions, but luncheon was the children’s hour at Silverside.

Nina and Eileen talked garden talk—­they both were quite mad about their fruit-trees and flower-beds; Selwyn, Gerald, and Boots discussed stables, golf links, and finally the new business which Selwyn hoped to develop.

Afterward, when the children had been excused, and Drina had pulled her chair close to Lansing’s to listen—­and after that, on the veranda, when the men sat smoking and Drina was talking French, and Nina and Eileen had gone off with baskets, trowels, and pruning-shears—­Selwyn still continued in conference with Boots and Gerald; and it was plain that his concise, modest explanation of what he had accomplished in his experiments with Chaosite seriously impressed the other men.