She gave him a rueful smile.

“Very old-fashioned.”

He laughed.

“Scott-Dickens-and the other Victorians!”

“She won’t read them.”

“Starve her till she does. Stop the rubbish. If she doesn’t get it she’ll be hungry enough to fall to on wholesome food. By the way, what does she read? No, you needn’t tell me-I know. ‘He pressed a long burning kiss upon her lips.’ ‘My love, my love!’ she cried’. All that sort of thing!”

The dark blue eyes widened.

“Oh! Did she write that?”

He grinned.

“And a lot more like it, only in one place she made it a bitter kiss. And there was something about ‘tears salt on the lips’. That mightn’t have been copied.”

“But-she oughtn’t to be writing about things like that. I mean, if it’s just copying, it doesn’t matter so much, but if she thought of that for herself-”

He had another of those unpredictable spurts of anger. Her look of distress had been poignant. What did she know about kisses washed in tears?

She said doubtfully,

“I suppose you had better see her.”

CHAPTER 3

They came out into the hall again and across it to a long dark passage. The light which Rosamond switched on was up in the ceiling and as faint as candle light. There was no sound anywhere, until quite suddenly an electric bell buzzed, and went on buzzing. The sound came from behind a door on the left. It was perfectly plain that somebody wanted something and would go on ringing until the want was supplied. Rosamond stood still and said in a low voice, “It’s my aunt. I must go. I won’t be any longer than I can help.” And upon that was gone. The infernal buzzing stopped. He heard a harshly-pitched voice, and a murmuring low one which presently ceased, while the other voice went on. He thought Rosamond Maxwell was being scolded, and that either from habit or discretion she took her scoldings in silence. He found himself disliking the owner of the scolding voice.