Sir Eustace's frown deepened. "You won't catch the post with those
letters if you do."
Scott looked up at last, and his eyes were as steady as his hand had
been. "That's my business, old chap," he said quietly. "Don't you worry
yourself about that!"
There was a hint of ferocity about Sir Eustace as he met that steadfast
look. He stood motionless for a moment or two, then flung round on his
heel. Scott returned to his work with the composure characteristic of
him, and almost immediately the banging of the door told of his brother's
departure.
Then for a second his hand paused; he passed the other across his eyes
with the old gesture of weariness, and a short, hard sigh came from him
ere he bent again to his task.
Sir Eustace strode across the hall with the frown still drawing his
brows. An open car was waiting at the door, but ere he went to it he
turned aside and knocked peremptorily at another door.
He opened without waiting for a reply and entered a long, low-ceiled room
through which the rays of the afternoon sun were pouring. Isabel, lying
on a couch between fire and window, turned her head towards him.
"Haven't you started yet? Surely it is getting very late," she said in
her low, rather monotonous voice.
He came to her. "I prefer starting a bit late," he said. "You will have
tea ready when we return?"
"Certainly," she said.
He stood looking down at her intently.
Pages:
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333