He went out ahead of Rollison, stepped to the front door and opened it, and then said in tones of delight:

“Good-morning sir!” He glanced at Rollison. “Miss Barrington-Ley has been waiting for some time.”

By that time Rollison had joined Jolly and the door of the living-room had opened.

Gwendoline Barrington-Ley stood in the doorway. She was taller than either her father or her mother, with an attractive figure not shown to advantage by a mannish tweed suit. Woollen stockings made her legs took sturdy. She wore a Tyrolean hat with a blue feather in the band, and on Gwendoline a Tyrolean hat looked slightly raffish.

“Hallo, Gwen!” said Rollison, stepping towards her with outstretched hand.

“Have you seen my mother to-day?” demanded Gwendoline.

“Why, no,” said Rollison.

“Thank heavens for that!” She took his hand and drew him into the room-. Her features were good, and with the right make-up she would have been attractive, but she scorned rouge and lip-stick. There was too much powder on the side of her nose, and it was nearly white—she needed a deeper shade to match her olive skin. Her grey eyes were very clear.

“Now what is all this?” demanded Rollison.

“Shut the door, please,” said Gwendoline, and would not go on until he had done so. Then she burst out: “It’s that dreadful woman!”

“There are so many,” murmured Rollison.

“You know what I mean. The woman who says she has lost her memory: Lost her memory!” Her voice was biting with contempt. “Rolly, I hate coming to you like this, I hate asking anyone to put themselves out, and if this were for my sake only I wouldn’t dream of it. But—well, there’s mother and father.”

“Oughtn’t we to start at the beginning?” asked Rollison. “And also be comfortable?” He led her to a chair and offered her cigarettes. She drew on one deeply, and when he was sitting in an easy chair opposite her, she began to talk in a low-pitched voice, quite determined that no one outside those four walls should hear.