"Well, Marianne," he said, pausing some yards from her. "You don't seem particularly glad to see me. Hullo!--has Dick been buying some more china?" And before his sister could say anything, he had walked over to a table covered with various bric-a-brac, where, taking up a fine Nankin vase, he looked closely at the marks on its base. Lady Winton flushed with anger. "I think you had better leave the china alone, Roger. I have only got a very few minutes. What do you want? Money, I suppose--as usual! And yet I warned you in my last letter that you would do this kind of thing once too often, and that we were _not_ going to put up with it!" She struck the table beside her with her glove. Delane put down the china and surveyed her. "The vase is Ming all right--better stuff than Dick generally buys. I congratulate him. Well, I'm sorry for you, my dear Marianne--but you _are_ my sister--and you can't help yourself!" He looked at her, half-smiling, with a quiet bravado which enraged her. "Don't talk like that, Roger! Tell me directly what it is you want. You seem to think you can force me to see you at any time, whatever I may be doing. But--" "Your last letter was 'a bit thick'--you see--it provoked me," said Delane calmly. "Of course you can get the police to chuck me out if you like. You would be quite in your rights. But I imagine the effect on the aristocratic nerves of Berkeley Square would be amusing. However--" He looked round him-- "As Carlyle said to the old Queen, 'I'm getting old, madam, and with your leave I'll take a chair--'" He pushed an arm-chair forward. "And let me make up the fire. It's beginning to freeze outside." Lady Winton moved quickly to the fireplace, holding out a prohibiting hand. "There is quite enough fire, thank you. I am going out presently." Delane sat down, and extended a pair of still shapely feet to the slender flame in the grate. "Dick's boots!" he said, tapping them with his cane, and looking round at his sister. "What a lot of wear I've got out of them since he threw them away! His overcoat, too. And now that it's the thing to be shabby, Dick's clothes are really a godsend. I defraud Jones. But I have no doubt that Jones gets a good deal more than is good for him." "Look here, Roger!--suppose you stop talking this nonsense and come to business," said Marianne Winton, in pale exasperation. "I've sent Jones out with a note--but he'll be back directly. And I've got an appointment. What are you doing? Have you got any work to do?" She took a seat not far from her brother, who perceived from her tone that he had perhaps gone as far as was prudent. "Oh, dear, no, I've got no work to do," he said, smiling. "That's not a commodity that comes my way. But I must somehow manage to keep a roof over Anita and the child. So what can I do but count on your assistance, my dear? My father left you a great deal of money which in equity belonged to me--and I am bound to remind you of it."