"Well--he's almost one of the family. I don't see..." She bit her lip. "All right, Mother--you know best." She hesitated for a moment, then went slowly toward the door. "It's getting late. I must do my hair." But on the landing outside she gave vent to her impatience. "Bother him!--I _know_ she'll be ill." Then a voice called her back. "Jill--I think--after all--I'll go to bed--my head's so bad. Will you look after Stephen? He likes a glass of port, remember. And I'm wondering if Roddy's slippers..." "Too small," said Jill promptly. "There goes the gong!--don't you worry--I'll see to everything all right." "No meat for me," her Mother added--"just a little soup--with a rack of toast. I'm too tired for anything solid." "That's a mercy in disguise," said Jill as she fled up the further stairs. Her mind was much relieved as she thought of the debatable grilled bone. She brushed back her rebellious locks and tied them hurriedly with a ribbon. "I'm glad about the chicken now. Stephen _will_ enjoy his dinner!" That worthy greeted her with his supercilious smile. "H'are you--Where's your mother?" He held out a limp white hand. "She's dead-tired and gone to bed. You'll have to put up with me to-night." "An unexpected pleasure." He drawled with a side-long glance at the girl, her face rosy from the fire in its mass of waving dark-brown hair. "'Pon me word, you're growing up!" He stuck his glass into his eye and moved leisurely to take the head of the long table. "My place," said Jill politely. "Roddy's away. Will you sit here?" With an air of childish dignity she began to ladle out the soup. Stephen laughed--a trifle sourly. "Sorry to hear your mother's ill. What's the matter?" "Overwork." Their eyes met, and at last the man lowered his against his will. "I suppose you know you're killing her? She can't go on at this rate! I should have thought"--Jill paused a moment--"you would have seen it for yourself." Stephen laid his spoon down. His irritation at her words was increased by his first taste of the soup, a muddy, thin brown mixture. "Is this the cook I found for you?" Purposely he ignored her speech and spoke in a languid voice, with studied indifference. "Yes. Aren't you pleased?" Jill laughed aloud. "You really _are_ a comfort, Stephen! What should we do without your help?" She rose to her feet as she spoke. "Roddy was saying the other day"--she covered her mother's basin of soup and went on with mischievous glee--"'What I do like about Stephen is he always knows what's what! You've only to look at his socks and ties--they match to a T--he's such a K-nut!' D'you like being a Nut, Stephen?" Her voice was innocence itself. She turned with the tray in her hand, and added, as he answered nothing: "Drink your soup--it will do you good! And Mother's sure to ask for news of your appetite." The door banged and she was gone.