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with a cup of Margaret Caswell’s rich coffee in her hand.
    â€œI knew it, I knew it,” Christopher said. “A day for miracles. Imagine finding you on your feet at this proletarian hour.”
    Ellen glared at him through the aromatic steam. “What makes you so cheerful of late? It’s disgusting.”
    â€œSomething rare has entered my life. As the ecclesiastical arm puts it, I have been uplifted in spirit.”
    Ellen sniffed. “You? Confessing to a tardy conversion? It would be too simply dreary.”
    â€œHell, no, nothing so primitive.” Chris spread himself over a chair and inhaled deeply of the delicious smells from the kitchen. “Although God knows neither of us has much to be cheerful about, I grant you.”
    â€œThat’s why I was hoping to catch you alone before breakfast.” Ellen’s tone expressed her resentment of the radical recourse forced upon her. “You may not realize it, Chris, but you’ve been pretty slimy lately. Is the sisterly eye mistaken, or aren’t you being awfully attentive to our little country cousin? You aren’t casting her for a role in some dirty drama you’re working on, are you?”
    â€œDon’t be foul,” said Christopher shortly. “And Jo’s no yokel. Just because she hasn’t had the advantage of living in London and acquiring a vocabulary of British clichés—”
    â€œBless my soul and whiskers.” The saccharine in Ellen’s smile was chemically combined with acid. “Lord Ironpants has suddenly developed a tender spot.”
    â€œNever mind . Just what did you want to talk about?”
    â€œFather’s performance the other night. What did you think of it?”
    â€œTop hole, pip-pip, stiff upper, and all that.”
    â€œDo you suppose he was telling the whole truth?”
    â€œFather? Of course. You know father isn’t capable of a deliberate deception.”
    â€œI wonder,” said Ellen thoughtfully.
    â€œDon’t be silly. He was giving it to us straight.”
    â€œAren’t you being terribly indifferent to it all? In my opinion, it’s no trifle having your inheritance reduced from millions to thousands by your father’s stupidity and the venality of some crooked solicitor. There must be something we can do about it.”
    â€œSure—grin and bear it. It isn’t as if we’ll have to go on relief, Ellen. There ought to be several hundred thou’ at least to be divided between us after taxes. In the parlance of Wrightsville, that ain’t hay.”
    â€œIt ‘ain’t’ five million, either. Honestly, I’m so furious with father I could spit!”
    Christopher grinned. Ellen’s rage made her almost human. “Chin up, old girl,” he said, not unfondly. “It’s the Empiah tradition, y’know.”
    â€œOh, go to hell! I don’t know why I bother to discuss anything with you.”
    Jo Caswell entered the breakfast room at that moment, looking lusciously slim and young in a heather wool dress, and bringing in with her, Christopher was prepared to swear, a personal escort of sunshine. He immediately quit the natural variety for Jo’s peculiar radiance; and Ellen, finding herself a crowd, withdrew disdainfully to the other end of the table.
    Jo’s mother, starchily aproned, appeared in the doorway from the kitchen. “Is Godfrey down?”
    â€œNot yet, Mum,” Jo said.
    â€œThat’s funny. It’s a quarter past nine by the kitchen clock. He’s always on time.”
    Ellen snapped, “Obviously, he’s sometimes not.”
    Worry lines were showing between Mum’s faded eyes. “In all the years I’ve been here, your father’s never been late for his breakfast except when he was ill.”
    â€œOh, for goodness’ sake, Mum,” said Jo, “he’s probably gone out to the greenhouse and lost track of the time. It