“It is time you were happy,” said she, looking straight ahead, and many days passed before he had an inkling of all that lay behind her remark. As they entered the house Jones met them in the hall. “Mr Brood telephoned that he would be late, madam. He is at the customs office about the boxes.” She paused at the foot of the stairs. “How long has he been out, Jones?” “Since two o'clock, madam. It is now half-past four.” “There will be five or six in for tea, Jones. You may serve it in Mr Brood's study.” “Yes, madam.” A look of surprise flitted across the butler's impassive face. For a moment he had doubted his hearing. “And ask Ranjab to put away Mr Brood's writing materials and reference-books.” “I shall attend to it myself, madam. Ranjab went out with Mr Brood.” “Went out!” exclaimed Yvonne. Frederic turned upon the butler. “You must be mistaken, Jones,” he said sharply. “I think not, sir. They went away together in the automobile. He has not returned.” A long look of wonder and perplexity passed between young Brood and his stepmother. She laughed suddenly and unnaturally. Without a word she started up the stairs. He followed more slowly, his puzzled eyes fixed on the graceful figure ahead. At the upper landing she stopped. Her hand grasped the railing with rigid intensity. Ranjab emerged from the shadows at the end of the hall. He bowed very deeply. “The master's books and papers 'ave been removed, madam. The study is in order.” CHAPTER VII The two old men, long since relegated to a somewhat self-imposed oblivion, on a certain night discussed, as usual, the affairs of the household in the privacy of their room on the third floor. Not, however, without first convincing themselves that the shadowy Ranjab was nowhere within range of their croaking undertones. From the proscribed regions downstairs came the faint sounds of a piano and the intermittent chatter of many voices. Someone was playing “La Paloma.” These new days were not like the old ones. Once they had enjoyed, even commanded, the full freedom of the house. It had been their privilege, their prerogative, to enter into every social undertaking that was planned. They had come to regard themselves as hosts, or, at the very least, guests of honour on such occasions. Not that the occasions were many where guests came to be entertained by James Brood of old, but it seemed to be an accepted and quite agreeable duty of theirs to convince the infrequent visitors that Brood's house was really quite a jolly place, and that it would pay them to drop in oftener. They had a joyous way of lifting the responsibility of conversation from everyone else; and, be it said to their credit, there was no subject on which they couldn't talk with decision and fluency, whether they knew anything about it or not.