"Yes, of course," Fay said. "You'd like to come up, wouldn't you, Dinah?"

This was said a trifle beseechingly, and Miss Fawcett, who wore all the signs of one about to do battle, relaxed, and agreed that she would like to go up to her room.

"I've had to put you in the little west room," Fay told her. "I knew you wouldn't mind. We're — we're rather full up."

"Yes, so I gathered," said Dinah, rounding the bend of the staircase. "It seems to be worrying little Arthur."

She had a clear, carrying voice. Fay glanced quickly down the stairs. "Dinah, please!" she begged.

Dinah threw her a glance of slightly scornful affection, and replied incorrigibly: "All right, but it's putting an awful strain on me."

They ascended the remaining stairs in silence, but as soon as the door of the west room was securely shut on them Dinah demanded to know what was the matter with Arthur.

Lady Billington-Smith sank down on to a chair, and put up one of her thin hands to her head, pushing the pale gold hair off her brow in a nervous gesture peculiar to her. "Something dreadful has happened," she answered. "It has upset Arthur terribly."

"Ha!" said Dinah, casting her hat on to the bed. "The cook burned his Sacred Porridge, I suppose."

A slight smile flickered across her sister's face. "Oh, don't be an ass, Dinah, for heaven's sake!"

"Well, that was it the last time I came," said Dinah, hunting in her dressing-case for a comb.

"This is much worse. It's Geoffrey."

"Dipped again?" inquired Miss Fawcett sympathetically.

"Worse than that, even. He's engaged to be married. At least, he says he is."

Miss Fawcett combed out her short brown locks, and began to powder her nose. "Barmaid, or tobacconist's assistant?" she asked, as one versed in the follies of young men.

"Neither. She's a cabaret dancer."