Will some one give me some tea?"
Brooks laughed softly from his place in front of the open fire. A long
day in the fresh north wind had driven the cobwebs from his brain, and
brought the burning colour to his cheeks. His eyes were bright, and his
laughter was like music.
"And you," he exclaimed, "are fresh from electioneering. Why, fatigue
like this is a luxury."
Molyneux lit a cigarette and looked longingly at the tea-tray set out in
the middle of the hall.
"That is all very well," he said, "but there is a wide difference
between the two forms of exercise. In electioneering one can use one's
brain, and my brain is never weary. It is capable of the most
stupendous exertions. It is my legs that fail me sometimes. Here comes
Lady Caroom at last. Why does she look as though she had seen a ghost?"
That great staircase at Enton came right into the hall. A few steps
from the bottom Lady Caroom had halted, and her appearance was certainly
a little unusual. Every vestige of colour had left her cheeks. Her
right hand was clutching the oak banisters, her eyes were fixed upon
Brooks.
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