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by her husband-has not done. I blame Ryland en-tirely. What can one expect of

a money-grubbing merchant who’s spent all his life in heathan parts among tradesmen?”
    “Catherine was always as bad,” put in Lady Brough, “With her séances and her Theosophical Society

lectures and her An-cient Music.”
    “Of course she is, Mama,” agreed Lady Clayburne quickly. “You are quite right. But at least one had

some control over Catherine. But Vivienne-Vixie, she is called in the family-is due for her come-out next

year. The poor child has been raised on a rubbish of philosophers and economists, with the result that

when she does come out, unless something is done to take her education in hand, she will be entirely too

outré to make anything resembling a respectable parti. Catherine should have known better, but of

course neither Mother nor I could ever tell her a thing. Now that Ryland is, thank goodness, out of the

way, Mother and I agreed that it is the perfect opportunity to take that poor child under our wings and

make something of her be-fore it is too late.”
    “I see.” Seward reflected that if Lady Brough were his grand-mother, he’d go into hiding, too.
    Mary entered with the tea-tray, and dipped a little curtsey to the two ladies as she set it down on the

corner of Seward’s desk. What there was about the tea things that didn’t meet Lady Clay-burne’s

standards, Seward had no idea. Neither the cups nor the saucers were visibly chipped, the

bread-and-butter was fresh, no sugar had been spilled, and the milk was wholesome. But Lady

Clayburne’s thin mouth compressed still further, as Mrs. West-enra’s had when Seward had re-entered

the dining-room the other night in his gray tweeds, and Lady Brough regarded the tea-cup Seward

offered her through her lorgnette for a long mo-ment before, reluctantly, accepting it.
    Lady Clayburne demanded, “Has my sister come to see Ryland?”
    “It remains a matter between herself and me, as Mr. Ren-field’s physician, but no, she has not.” Quite

possibly, guessed Seward, because Mrs. Renfield suspected that her family would attempt to trace her in

precisely this fashion. But it was curious, he thought, that Renfield had mentioned to him neither wife nor

child. “The girl Vivienne is Mr. Renfield’s only child?”
    Lady Clayburne sniffed derisively. “The dear Lord only knows what he got up to in India, all the years

he was there, but Vivi-enne is my sister’s only child.”
    “Ryland was married in India.” Lady Brough set her tea aside untasted. “My solicitor, Joseph

Wormidge, has instituted inquiries among the business and Army communities of Calcutta and has found

little against him save his passion for Wagner. Horrible, dreary racket!” Her pale eyes narrowed.

“Nevertheless, the in-quiry is not yet concluded.”
    “When his first wife died-I understand she was an invalid for many years-Ryland returned to England to

manage his business from here,” went on Lady Clayburne. “He met Catherine at one of those dreadful

theosophical lectures she was pa-tronizing that year. We did everything in our power, Mother and I, to

keep her from throwing herself away on a tradesman and a man twenty years older than herself into the

bargain. Well!” She took the tiniest sip of her tea, with the air of one making a heroic sacrifice to prevent

her host from killing himself with well-deserved chagrin, and set the cup and saucer firmly aside. So

much for THAT. The bread-and-butter she simply ignored.
    “Understand me, Dr. Seward. Mother and I have only Vixie’s good at heart. Goodness knows how
    we’re to keep it quiet that there is insanity in the family long enough to find her a husband, even with a

year or two at a good Swiss boarding-school to straighten her out … the cost of which Mother and I are

quite prepared to shoulder. Once we locate them, of course, we have instructed Wormidge to begin

proceedings to re-claim Father’s