looked pale and emaciated, and though his blue eyes had a kindly twinkle
it seemed to Juliet that they burned with a feverish brightness. His nose
was long and slightly hooked, and beneath it the mouth was hidden by a
heavy red moustache; while his hair, though not of so bright a colour,
had a reddish tinge about it. He appeared to be about fifty years of age,
but this was due to a look of tiredness habitual to his expression, and,
in part, to actual bad health. In reality he was younger.

"Pray take this chair, Miss Byrne," Mr. Findlay was saying. "We are
anxious to have a little conversation with you. I am sure you quite
understand that we should not have asked you to come all the way from
Belgium unless your presence was of considerable importance. How
important it is I really hardly know myself, but I repeat that I would
not have urged you to take so long a journey if I had not had serious
reason to think that it was desirable for your own sake that you should
do so. I may say at once that the matter is a family one; but before
going further I must ask your permission to put one or two questions to
you, which I hope you will believe are not prompted by any feeling of
idle curiosity on my part."

He paused, and Juliet murmured some words of acquiescence. Mr. Findlay
took off his eyeglasses, glared at them, replaced them, and ran his nose
over the surface of the papers on his writing-table.

"Ah, here it is!" he exclaimed triumphantly, pouncing on a folded sheet
and lifting it to his eyes. "Just a few notes," he explained.

"We wrote you care of Sir Arthur Byrne," he resumed; "are you a member of
his family?"