For answer Chilcote stepped through the door-way and walked
half-way across the hall.

"All right," he said. "But don't disturb her on my account.
I'll wait in the white room till she has finished." And,
without taking further notice of the servant, he began to
mount the stairs.

In the room where he had chosen to wait a pleasant wood-fire
brightened the dull January afternoon and softened the thick,
white curtains, the gilt furniture, and the Venetian vases
filled with white roses. Moving straight forward, Chilcote
paused by the grate and stretched his hands to the blaze;
then, with his usual instability, he turned and passed to a
couch that stood a yard or two away.

On the couch, tucked away between a novel and a crystal
gazing-ball, was a white Persian kitten, fast asleep.
Chilcote picked up the ball and held it between his eyes and
the fire; then he laughed superciliously, tossed it back into
its place, and caught the kitten's tail. The little animal
stirred, stretched itself, and began to purr. At the same
moment the door of the room opened.

Chilcote turned round. "I particularly said you were not to
be disturbed," he began. "Have I merited displeasure?" He
spoke fast, with the uneasy tone that so often underran his
words.