“Blast the fellow! Has he been bullying you again?” he said angrily. “He hasn’t; I bullied him. He came to see you but I waylaid him. I . . .” “But why should he . . .” “Don’t interrupt, Ry; let me tell my simple story in my own old-fashioned way. Odd as it may seem, I wanted to know what had been happening today that had worried you so much. You didn’t tell me anything worth hearing so I went to the _fons et origo mali_ and turned it on. It was a bit sticky—‘not at liberty to divulge’ and all that sort of eyewash—but it’s a nice young man really and responded to my womanly appeal—as one sister to another effect, you know.” Ryland snorted. “It’s quite all right, Ry; I didn’t vamp him—at least, not much. He told me what you seem to have told the Coroner, and pretty thin we both thought it. He naturally wanted to hear a bit more; that’s what he came here for—to put you through it—third degree—in quite a nice, gentlemanly sort of way. Well, knowing what sort of a Ryland my brother Ryland is, I thought I saw him getting a bit mule-headed and sticking his toes in and giving a general representation of a man who has got nothing good to tell and won’t tell it. So I told him to go off and apply third, fourth and even fifth degrees to the pantry boy while I asked you what it was really all about. You see, I start with the advantage of knowing that you are telling the truth, however thin it may sound, so I . . .” “Inez, did you know that father wasn’t—wasn’t my father?” Inez started. “Ry!” she said. “Haven’t you been listening to what I was saying?” “Did you know, Inez?” repeated her brother. Inez looked at him, in a curious expression on her face. “Yes, Ry, I knew,” she said quietly. “Who told you?” “Mother—but she made me promise not to breathe a word about it to anyone.” “Why should you know, and not me? Surely I had a right to know if anyone had.” “I think father didn’t want anyone at all to know—out of kindness really—people of that generation—Victorians—had odd ideas about its being shameful to be the child of an unmarried mother.” There was silence for a minute or more as Ryland sat with a look of deepening bitterness, staring into the fire. “Then I’m not your brother?” he said at last. Again that curious expression, half contemptuous, half tender, came into Inez’ face. “Fancy that!” she said lightly, slipping from her place on the arm of Ryland’s chair. Ryland, catching the ironical note in her voice, looked up questioningly, but Inez only returned to her original attack. “Now then, what about this Birdcage lady?” she asked. “It wasn’t Julie Vermont was it? I thought you were off her.” Ryland shook his head impatiently. “Oh dry up about her,” he said.