"Throw it to me, Marjorie!" chirped the vision in the _negligée_. A moment later, genuinely oblivious of the sensation she was causing, Liss was lying back in the arm-chair, blowing smoke rings up to the ceiling. Marjorie proceeded to make conversation. "Have you been at Netherby lately?" she asked. "I haven’t heard a word from anybody there since I left. I wrote to father and mother, but neither of them answered, so I gave it up. I was sorry, all the same. I hear from Joe, of course. Have they conscripted Amos yet? How are the children?" This was neither the tone nor the temper that Uncle Fred had anticipated from the prodigal. He had expected either flamboyant defiance or broken-hearted contrition—most probably the latter. This resolute, cheery, ladylike—yes, he had to admit it, ladylike—bonhomie was making his mission more difficult than he had anticipated. He cleared his throat. "I was at Netherby during July," he began. "Your father and mother are well, though borne down with sorrow, over—over—" "Over what?" Uncle Fred, who had meant to improve the occasion, baulked at his first fence. "Over this wicked war," he substituted. "Well, they haven’t much to worry about," said Marjorie composedly. "Joe tells me that he’s in no particular danger, except from odd long-range shells. Amos—I suppose he has kept out of it all right?" "Your brother is in Glasgow," said Uncle Fred, "doing civilian war work of national importance." "I thought so," said Marjorie. "Trust Amos!" "Your father," continued Uncle Fred, "commissioned me to ascertain your whereabouts in London—" "How _did_ you find us, by the way?" asked Marjorie. "It was rather clever of you." "I set an investigation on foot," replied Uncle Fred with a not very successful assumption of grandeur. "Quite a little Sherlock Holmes!" remarked an approving voice. Despite himself, Uncle Fred looked round. The small siren in the arm-chair was regarding him with obvious interest. Doubtless she was taking his moral measure, with a view to ultimate conquest. As a matter of fact, Liss was wondering whether it would be feasible to borrow five shillings from him. "How _did_ you set about it?" Marjorie continued. "I decided not to question the police. We were anxious to have as little scandal as possible—" Marjorie rose with some deliberation, and took her stand upon the hearthrug exactly opposite her diplomatic relative. "What did you do?" she asked. "I began by instituting inquiries among the London theatrical managers." "Then you knew I was working on the stage?" "Yes. Your mother recognised your likeness in some periodical." Marjorie nodded her head. "So that was why father stopped my allowance!" she said. "I was wondering. Well, go on. Father has sent you to see me? What for?"