Carl laughed. "I had a call from him on the 'phone an hour ago," he
answered. "He spoke of a busy day ahead, and suggested an early start.
There are some men, Harrow, who find rest simply in changing the brain's
occupation."

"Yes, sir, quite so," admitted the butler dubiously. "Still, as the poet
says, sir, it's sleep that 'knits up the ravelled sleeve of care,' sir.
Sometimes I have apprehensions that the master will overtax his
strength."

"I didn't know, Harrow," smiled the secretary, "that you were a disciple
of the poets."

"Only, sir, in an unostentatious way," deprecated the man. "It has been
my good fortune to serve in families where such niceties have been
highly regarded, sir, and, I take it, advantageous associations reflect
themselves in one's tastes, sir. But--" he dropped his voice, and came a
step nearer--"but, sir, if you will pardon me, sir, I should like to ask
a question. You know, of course, that the master's sister arrived last
night from Europe?"

Bristoll nodded. He himself had not yet had the privilege of seeing the
young woman, the fame of whose loveliness had preceded her: a loveliness
which had enthralled men from the Irish Sea to Suez.

"Of course, sir, it's not for me to entertain opinions, but--" The
butler paused in evident embarrassment, and the secretary's eyes
narrowed a little.