"One of these days you'll catch your death of cold. Don't say I didn't warn you! Miss Allison, be kind enough to ring the bell! I'm tired."

Jim Kane lingered until the business of assisting Emily into the carrying chair was accomplished and contrived, while the butler and footman were bearing her up the shallow staircase, to exchange a few final words with Miss Allison. Then he sallied forth to brave the dangers of the sea fret, and Miss Allison, holding Emily's ebony cane, the rug which she used to cover her knees, and her handbag, went sedately upstairs in the wake of the carrying chair.

Emily Kane, with her companion and her maid, occupied a suite of rooms in the west wing of the house.

Miss Allison followed her there, arriving in time to see Ogle, her maid, helping her to an armchair in her bedroom.

She laid down her various burdens and would have left Emily in Ogle's jealous charge had not Emily said: "Don't go! What did that hussy say to you in the conservatory?"

"Nothing much," replied Patricia. "I've heard it all before, anyway."

"She'll run off with that Dermott yet," prophesied Emily. "Good riddance to bad rubbish is what I say! Not that I want a scandal in the family. We'll leave that to the Mansells. Them and their precious son! You take my advice and send him to the right-about."

"I will," promised Patricia.

Emily began to sip the glass of Horlick's Malted Milk which Ogle had put into her hand. "If my son would take something hot going to bed it would do him more good than trapesing about on the cliffs at this hour of night," she remarked. "Fresh air indeed! There's a great deal of nonsense talked about fresh air these days. I've no patience with it. Why he doesn't catch his death of cold I don't know."

"I expect he's hardened to all weathers by this time," said Patricia consolingly.

"That remains to be seen. He's as pigheaded as his father was. Never knew a Kane who wasn't. Jim's as bad as the rest of them, I warn you— Here, take this away!"