"My dear boy, there you are at last! I have been waiting
_hours_ for you. Your train must have been very late--abominable
railway service! Have you had any breakfast? Yes? Good.
Then take a cigarette--they are in that box at your elbow--and
tell me about this amazing thunderbolt that you have hurled at me.
What a preposterous proposition for two bachelors like you and me!
To be sure your extraordinary friend did not include me in his
wild scheme--though no doubt he would have, had he known of my
existence. Was the man mad? Who was he, anyhow? John Locke of
where? There are dozens of Lockes. And why did he select you of
all people? What fools men are!" She subsided suddenly into an
easy chair and crossed one neat pump over the other. "All of 'em!"
she added emphatically, flicking cigarette ash into the fire with
a vigorous sidelong jerk. Her eyes were studying his face
attentively, seeking for themselves the answer to the more
personal inquiries that would have seemed necessary to a less
original woman meeting a much-loved nephew after a lapse of years.
Craven smiled at the characteristically peculiar greeting and the
well remembered formula. He settled his long limbs comfortably
into an opposite chair.

"Even Peter?" he asked, lighting a cigarette.

Miss Craven laughed good temperedly.

"Peter," she rejoined succinctly, "is the one brilliant exception
that proves the rule. I have an immense respect for Peter." He
looked at her curiously. "And--me, Aunt Caro?" he asked with an
odd note in his voice. Miss Craven glanced for a moment at the big