white collar, and a greenish-black bow tie. His ash-blond hair was clipped with convict-like closeness, his pallid face showed a cut he had given himself when shaving. His air had something of the secretive smirk of an undertaker.
"Welcome 'ome, Mr. Eden," he said, sadly. "Welcome 'ome, sir."
"Thanks, Rags. Alayne, this is Wragge, our—" Eden hesitated, trying to decide how Mr. Wragge should be described, and continued, "our factotum."
"Welcome 'ome, Mrs. Whiteoak," said Rags, with his curiously deprecating yet impudent glance. It said to Eden silently but unmistakably: "Ow, you may fool the family, young man, but you can't fool me. You 'aven't married a heiress. And 'ow we're to put up with another young woman 'ere, Gawd only knows."
Alayne thanked him, and at the same moment the door of the living-room was opened and Meg Whiteoak appeared on the threshold. She threw her arms about Eden's neck and kissed him with passionate tenderness. Then she turned to Alayne, her lips, with their prettily curved corners, parted in a gentle smile.
"So this is Alayne. I hope you will like us all, my dear. We're so happy to have you."
Alayne found herself enfolded in a warm plump embrace. She thought it was no wonder the brothers adored their sister,—Eden had told her they did,—and she felt prepared to make a sister, a confidante, of her. How delightful! A real sister. She held tightly to Meg's hand as they went into the living-room where more of the family had assembled.
It was so warm that even the low flameless fire seemed too much; none of the windows were open. Slanting bars of sunlight penetrating between the slats of the inside shutters converged at one point, the chair where
