she would have approved.

When the car returned his annoyance was increased again for a space. Mr.
Rattar had sent a brief reply that he was too busy to come out that
afternoon, but he would call on Sir Reginald in the morning. For a time
this answer kept Sir Reginald in a state of renewed irritation, and then
his natural good humour began to prevail, till by dinner time he was
quite calm again, and after dinner in as genial humour as he had been in
the day before.

He played a game of pyramids with Cicely and Malcolm in the billiard
room, and then he and Cicely joined Lady Cromarty in the drawing room
while the young author went up to his room to work, he declared. He had
a large bedroom furnished half as a sitting room where he retired each
night to compose his masterpieces as soon as it became impossible to
enjoy Miss Farmond's company without having to share it in the drawing
room with his host and hostess. At least, that was the explanation of
his procedure given by Lady Cromarty, whose eye was never more critical
than when it studied her husband's kinsman and heir.

Lady Cromarty's eye was not uncritical also of Cicely at times, but
to-night she was so relieved to see how Sir Reginald's temper improved
under her smiles and half shy glances, that she let her stay up later
than usual. Then when she and the girl went up to bed, she asked her
husband if he would be late.

"The magazines came this morning," said he. "I'd better sleep in my
dressing room."

The baronet was apt to sit up late when he had anything to read that
held his fancy, and the procedure of sleeping in his dressing room was
commonly followed then.

He bade them good-night and went off towards the library, and a few
minutes later, as they were going upstairs, they heard the library door
shut.

When they came to Lady Cromarty's room, Cicely said good-night to her
hostess and turned down the passage that led to her own bedroom. A door
opened quietly as she passed and a voice whispered:

"Cicely!"

She stopped and regarded the young author with a reproving eye.

"Is anything the matter?" she asked.

"I just wanted to speak to you!" he pleaded.

"Now, Malcolm," she said severely, "you know quite well that Lady
Cromarty trusts us _not_ to do this sort of thing!"

"She's in her room, isn't she?"

"What does that matter?"

"And where's Sir Reginald?"

"Still in the library."

"Sitting up late?"

"Yes, but that doesn't matter either.