"I see. Well, you'd better come now and speak to mother. She's quite worried about your being here, or rather about my saying you're here when she says you aren't." "Right-O!" and Tony followed her sister out of the room. In a way Awdrey was like her, but with a more piquant, impertinent cast of features. She was dressed in the latest combination of fashion and sport, with a very short skirt to display her pretty ankles and purple silk stockings. She was strongly scented with some pleasant, flower-like scent, which, however, made Tony wrinkle up her nose with disgust. "You were quite right about there being visitors," said the elder girl in a more friendly tone. "Captain le Bourbourg was here, and as only mother and I were in, I went with him to the door--complications, of course!" "Ass," said Tony shortly. Awdrey giggled, apparently without resentment, and the next minute they were in the drawing-room. The drawing-room at Shovelstrode was an emasculate room, plunged deep in yellow and dull green. The furniture had a certain ineffectiveness about it, in spite of its beauty. The only thing which was neither delicate nor indefinite was the heavily beamed ceiling, reflecting the firelight. The girls' mother lay on a sofa between the fire and the half-curtained window, just where she could see the moon. She wore a yellow silk wrapper, and on her breast lay dull, strangely set stones. She was reading a little book of unorthodox mysticism, and others, in floppy suède bindings, were on the table beside her. "Why, Antoinette!" she cried. "Whatever are you here for, child?" "They had whooping-cough at school," said Awdrey glibly, "and sent her home--and the silly idiot wrote and told us on a postcard, which we'll probably get some time next week." Lady Strife sighed. "It's very disturbing, my dear, very disturbing--for me, that's to say. And as for your father, I expect he'll be furious. He hates things happening in a disorderly way and people being in the wrong place." "I'm sorry," said Tony, "but I'll work all the time I'm here, so I really shan't lose anything by it." "Well, it's not your fault, of course," rather doubtfully. "Come and give me a kiss," she added, realising that the ceremony had been omitted. "How are you, mother?" "Oh, about the same, thank you. Weak of body, but not, I trust, weak of soul. I am wonderfully comforted by this little book of Sakrata Balkrishna's. Our soul, he says, Tony, sits within us as a watcher, holding aloof from the poor, suffering body, and weaving a new mantle of flesh for its next Manvantara." "Buddhism?..." asked Tony awkwardly. "Buddhism! My dear child--as if I would have anything to do with that modern corruption of pure Brahminical faith! No, Antoinette, this is the ancient Vedantin philosophy, as old as the world. By the way, has your box come?" "Yes. I brought it with me in the taxi." "The taxi! You were lucky to find one at the station."