Eleanor, coming in to put the room in order, found him in his dressing-gown, asleep before the black ashes of the fire, and her squeal of fear woke him. “Oh, sir, you gave me such a fright!” He rose stiffly, blinking at her. “Did I ...? I’m sorry, Eleanor. Will you send Trenter to me in my room?” A bad start to a very bad day’s business. He ached from head to foot, until his bath gave him some bodily ease. “Eleanor says you were asleep before the study fire. When did you come down, Gordon?” Diana asked at breakfast. “About three o’clock, I think. I remembered work that had to be done.” She was concerned. “Why don’t you go by the night train--you could sleep?” she suggested, and he forced a smile. “I shall sleep all right,” he said with spurious gaiety. The talk went off in another direction, and then Bobbie came in for final instructions. Gordon was unaccountably irritated by this act of devotion to duty, and his “Good-morning” was like the crack of a whip. “After you have gone,” said Diana, “I shall ask Trenter to show me such of your clothes as need go to the cleaners.” “Trenter is going before me,” he said hastily. “He’s catching a train to Bristol. His aunt is seriously ill.” “What on earth’s the matter with you?” gasped Bobbie. Gordon turned, ready to be offensive, but it was not he at whom Bobbie was staring. Diana’s face was ghastly; her eyes were wide with a terror she could not conceal; her skin the colour of chalk. Gordon jumped up and ran to her. “Whatever’s the matter?” he asked, in genuine alarm. “Nothing,” she said with a gasp. “Perhaps I’m feeling the parting. I always go like this when my cousins go away!” “Have you had bad news?” Her letters were open on the table. She shook her head. “No; the butcher’s arithmetic is a little embrangled. Ever heard that word before, Gordon? I guess you haven’t! I found it in _Tom Brown’s School Days_. Bobbie, don’t stare, it’s very rude....” Under her covering hand was the letter she had been reading. Mr. Dempsi was very much alive: was in London at that moment. The opening lines of his letter were significant. “My bride! I have come to claim you!” Dempsi always wrote like that. CHAPTER X Ten minutes later, Bobbie walked into his brother’s room without knocking, and interrupted what seemed to be a very confidential interview. Trenter pocketed a sheaf of telegrams in haste, but not so quickly that Bobbie did not see them. He made no comment until Mr. Trenter, in his best suit and looking unusually spruce, had made a hurried departure. “Trenter’s going down to see his sick aunt,” explained his master. “He looks like that,” said Bobbie. “The chrysanthemum in his buttonhole will cheer her immensely. Is the faithful Trenter in the swindle too?” “I don’t know what you mean by ‘swindle,’” said Gordon loudly. “I wish I hadn’t told you anything about it!”