refreshed.

The only aftermath of this latest squall instantly apparent was the
message Bates gave him as he announced dinner. Miss Lucy would not be
down. She was indisposed.

"Another word for a bad disposition," Simon informed his sister-in-law,
as they seated themselves at a table laid for two, indifferent to the
fact that he was criticizing his wife within the hearing of a servant.
"She'll have recovered by morning."

"We can't all have your sunny nature, Simon."

"Humph. You've heard about the roekus with Copley, I suppose?"

"Rumors have reached me." Miss Ocky peppered her soup composedly.
"Need we discuss it now?"

"No. There's always the weather, if you prefer that."

The topic did not seem to appeal to her. They did not talk about the
weather, nor anything else. A silence that would have been perfect but
for the sound of a subdued champing from the head of the table was
broken only once during the progress of the meal. Occupied though he
was with his food, Varr gradually became conscious of a steady scrutiny
that first puzzled, then irritated him. He glared at her angrily.

"What do you keep looking at me like that for?" he demanded.

"Interest, Simon. Pure, unadulterated interest."

"Well, stop it! I don't like it!"

For a wonder, she acceded to his insistence without a word. It cost
her no effort to avoid looking at him for the remainder of the time at
the table, after which they rose in silence and parted. Simon went
inevitably to his study, Miss Ocky in sisterly fashion to Lucy's room
to inquire the cause of her _malaise_.

Two hours passed before she came down again. Two somewhat trying
hours, to judge from the expression on her face, which wore a look as
grim as any ever sported by Medusa. Her eyes were cold and hard as she
marched promptly to the closed study door and rapped upon it--a gesture
of icy politeness.

"Come in! Humph. So it's you, Ocky! Dropped in to take another good
look at me?"

"No--to have a rather serious talk with you, Simon." From the
effortless way in which she drew a heavy armchair into the position she
desired, a shrewd observer might have gleaned a hint of the muscular
strength that was her heritage from many a camp and trail. "Hope you
don't mind."

"Quite the contrary. By a serious talk I presume you mean a row.
Well--I've gotten so I thrive on 'em!"

"Yes. I pity you just enough, Simon, to wish you weren't so fond of
them." Miss Ocky