e of her
daughter Sisily.

It was Austin Turold who caused a diversion in this group of lay figures
by walking to the table and helping himself to a whisky-and-soda. Austin
bore very little resemblance to his grim and dominant elder brother. He
had a slight frail figure, very carefully dressed, and one of those
thin-lipped faces which seem, to wear a perpetual sneer of superiority
over commoner humanity. The movements of his white hands, the inflection
of his voice, the double eyeglass which dangled from his vest by a ribbon
of black silk, revealed the type of human being which considers itself
something rarer and finer than its fellows. The thin face, narrow white
forehead, and high-bridged nose might have belonged to an Oxford don or
fashionable preacher, but, apart from these features, Austin Turold had
nothing in common with such earnest souls. By temperament he was a
dilettante and cynic, who affected not to take life seriously. His axiom
of faith was that a good liver was the one thing in life worth having, and
a far more potent factor in human affairs than conscience. He had at one
time regarded his brother Robert as a fool and visionary, but had seen fit
to change that opinion latterly.

He paused in the act of raising his glass to his lips, and looked over the
silent company as though seeking a convivial companion. His son was still
staring out of the window. The little stockbroker, seated on the sofa
beside his large wife, made a deprecating movement of his eyebrows, as
though entreating not to be asked. Austin's cold glance roved to Dr.
Ravenshaw.

"Doctor," he said, "let me give you a whisky-and-soda."

Doctor Ravenshaw shook his head. "I have a patient to visit before dark,"
he said, "a lady. I do not care to carry the smell of spirits into a
sick-room."

"But this is a special occasion, Ravenshaw," persisted the other. "We do
not restore a title every day."

"Austin!" The voice of Mrs. Pendleton sounded from the sofa in shocked
protest.

"What's the matter?" said Austin, pausing in the act of pouring some
whisky into a glass.

"It would be exceedingly improper to drink a toast at such a moment."

"What's the matter with the moment?"

"The day, then. Just when we have buried poor Alice." Mrs. Pendleton had
not seen her brother's wife for ten years before her death, but she had no
difficulty in bringing tears to her eyes at the recollection of her. She
dried her eyes with her handkerchief, and a