Valencia’s face hardened. She had no recollection of any childish affection for her elder brother, and as far as she could remember she had never heard any good of him: certainly, for seven years, he had treated his family as if it had no existence. She looked doubtfully and hesitatingly at Braxfield.
“I can’t say, miss,” replied the old butler, “except that he says he’s come down to see you and Mr. Harry on special business and doesn’t want your father to know.”
Valencia glanced from Braxfield along the gloomy corridor. Innumerable doorways, admitting to cavernous chambers, were ranged there—two or three dozen of guests could have been put up in Markenmore Court, but she knew that not one of those rooms could be prepared in less than twenty-four hours; each was damp, cold, out of use.
“Where on earth are you going to put him, Braxfield?” she said. “There isn’t a bed in the place that’s fit to give him.”
“He’s not stopping, Miss Valencia,” answered Braxfield. “I—I don’t quite understand his movements, but he’s going, I believe, as soon as he’s seen you and Mr. Harry. He spoke of a very early morning train from Mitbourne.”
Valencia hesitated a moment: then she moved off in the direction of her father’s sick-room.
“Tell him we’ll both come down in a few minutes,” she whispered to Braxfield. “Where is he—in the morning-room?”
“No, miss—in the butler’s pantry,” answered Braxfield.
Valencia nodded and turned away, and Braxfield went back to the visitor.
“Coming in a minute or two, sir,” he answered. “Both!”
“I suppose they’ve changed,” remarked Guy unconcernedly.
“Oh, a good deal, sir,” said Braxfield. “Seven years, sir, is a long time—at their ages.”
“Let’s see,” continued Guy. “Harry’ll be—what is it?—twenty-three, and Valencia’s about twenty—nearly twenty. Um! Has my sister any love-affairs?”
“Not to my knowledge, sir,” replied Braxfield. “Miss Valencia, sir, is a young lady that hasn’t seemed to favour the society of gentlemen, so far, sir. Outdoor life, Mr. Guy, is what appeals to her, I think—gardening, games, walking, bit of rabbit-shooting, and so on. A very healthy young lady, sir. I hear them coming, sir—I’d better leave you.”
“Stop where you are, Braxfield,” said Guy quietly. “I want you there.”