"Will you keep quiet?" he whispered fiercely, snatching the sheet from the pad and crumpling it into his palm. Sister and brother faced each other; in his eyes leaped a flame infernal which seemed to hold her paralyzed for a moment; then, with a gesture, she swept him aside, and covering her eyes with her hands, sank into a chair. "What a fool you are!" he said furiously, bending down beside her. "It's in us both; you'll do it, too, when you are ready--if you have any sporting blood in you!" And, straightening up impatiently, his eyes fell on Shiela, and he shrugged his shoulders and smiled resignedly. "It's nothing. My sister's nerves are a bit upset.... After all, this parlour magic is a stupid mistake, because there's always somebody who takes it seriously. It's only humbug, anyway; you know that, don't you, Shiela?" He untwisted the paper in his hand and held it in the candle flame until it burned to cinders. "What was there on that paper?" asked Shiela, managing to control her voice. "Why, merely a suggestion that I travel," he said coolly. "I can't see why my sister should make a fool of herself over the idea of my going on a journey. I've meant to, for years--to rest myself. I've told you that often, haven't I, Shiela?" She nodded slowly, but her eyes reverted to the woman crouching in the chair, face buried in her brilliantly jewelled hands. Portlaw and Tressilvain were also staring at her. "You'd better go to bed, Helen," said Malcourt coolly; and turned on his heel, lighting a cigarette. A little later the Tressilvains and Shiela started across the lawn to their own apartments, and Malcourt went with them to hold an umbrella over his wife. In the lower hall they separated with scarcely a word, but Malcourt detained his brother-in-law by a significant touch on the arm, and drew him into the library. "So you're leaving to-morrow?" he asked. "What?" said Tressilvain. "I say that I understand you and Helen are leaving us to-morrow." "I had not thought of leaving," said Tressilvain. "Think again," suggested Malcourt. "What do you mean?" Malcourt walked up very close and looked him in the face. "Must I explain?" he asked contemptuously. "I will if you like--you clumsy card-slipping, ace-pricking blackguard!... The station-wagon will be ready at seven. See that you are, too. Now go and tell my sister. It may reconcile her to various ideas of mine." And he turned and, walking to a leather-covered chair drawn up beside the library table, seated himself and opened a heavy book. Tressilvain stood absolutely still, his close-set eyes fairly starting from his face, in which not a vestige of colour now remained; and when at length he left the room he left so noiselessly that Malcourt did not hear him. However, Malcourt happened to be very intent upon his own train of thought, so absorbed, in fact, that it was a long while before he looked up and around, as though somebody had suddenly spoken his name.