“Who?”

“Sudbury Gray, I think—­with Scott Innis for an understudy—­perhaps the Draymore man as alternate—­I don’t know; there’s time.”

“Plenty,” he said vaguely, staring into the fire where a log had collapsed into incandescent ashes.

She continued to talk about Eileen until she noticed that his mind was on other matters—­his preoccupied stare enlightened her.  She said nothing for a while.

But he woke up when Austin came in and settled his big body in a chair.

“Drina, the little minx, called me back on some flimsy pretext,” he said, relighting his cigar; “I forgot that time was going—­and she was wily enough to keep me talking until Miss Paisely caught me at it and showed me out.  I tell you,” turning on Selwyn—­“children are what make life worth wh—­” He ceased abruptly at a gentle tap from his wife’s foot, and Selwyn looked up.

Whether or not he divined the interference he said very quietly:  “I’d rather have had children than anything in the world.  They’re about the best there is in life; I agree with you, Austin.”

His sister, watching him askance, was relieved to see his troubled face become serene, though she divined the effort.

“Kids are the best,” he repeated, smiling at her.  “Failing them, for second choice, I’ve taken to the laboratory.  Some day I’ll invent something and astonish you, Nina.”

“We’ll fit you up a corking laboratory,” began Austin cordially; “there is—­”

“You’re very good; perhaps you’ll all be civil enough to move out of the house if I need more room for bottles and retorts—­”

“Of course, Phil must have his laboratory,” insisted Nina.  “There’s loads of unused room in this big barn—­only you don’t mind being at the top of the house, do you, Phil?”

“Yes, I do; I want to be in the drawing-room—­or somewhere so that you all may enjoy the odours and get the benefit of premature explosions.  Oh, come now, Austin, if you think I’m going to plant myself here on you—­”

“Don’t notice him, Austin,” said Nina, “he only wishes to be implored.  And, by the same token, you’d both better let me implore you to dress!” She rose and bent forward in the firelight to peer at the clock.  “Goodness!  Do you creatures think I’m going to give Eileen half an hour’s start with her maid?—­and I carrying my twelve years’ handicap, too.  No, indeed!  I’m decrepit but I’m going to die fighting.  Austin, get up!  You’re horribly slow, anyhow.  Phil, Austin’s man—­such as he is—­will be at your disposal, and your luggage is unpacked.”

“Am I really expected to grace this festival of babes?” inquired Selwyn.  “Can’t you send me a tray of toast or a bowl of gruel and let me hide my old bones in a dressing-gown somewhere?”

“Oh, come on,” said Austin, smothering the yawn in his voice and casting his cigar into the ashes.  “You’re about ripe for the younger set—­one of them, anyhow.  If you can’t stand the intellectual strain we’ll side-step the show later and play a little—­what do you call it in the army?—­pontoons?”