Helena was practicing in the drawing-room. Mrs. Ledwith lay, half
asleep, upon a sofa. The doors into the hall were shut,--Luclarion
had looked to that, lest the playing should disturb Desire.

Luclarion was only gone three minutes. Then she came back, and led
Mr. Oldways up three flights of stairs.

"It's a long climb, clear from the door," she said.

"I can climb," said Mr. Oldways, curtly.

"I didn't expect it was going to stump _you_," said Luclarion, just
as short in her turn. "But I thought I'd be polite enough to mention
it."

There came a queer little chuckling wheeze from somewhere, like a
whispered imitation of the first few short pants of a steam-engine:
that was Uncle Titus, laughing to himself.

Luclarion looked down behind her, out of the corner of her eyes, as
she turned the landing. Uncle Titus's head was dropped between his
shoulders, and his shoulders were shaking up and down. But he kept
his big stick clutched by the middle, in one hand, and the other
just touched the rail as he went up. Uncle Titus was not out of
breath. Not he. He could laugh and climb.

Desire was sitting up for a little while, before going to bed again
for the night. There was a low gas-light burning by the
dressing-table, ready to turn up when the twilight should be gone;