Agatha, who was having her hair brushed, thought: 

“I’m not sure whether belts so low as that are wholesome,” murmured: 

“Wait a minute!”

But little Ann was gone; and her voice could be heard in the dressing-room climbing up towards Sir William, who from the sound of his replies, was manifestly shaving.  When Agatha, who never could resist a legitimate opportunity of approaching her husband, looked in, he was alone, and rather thoughtful—­a tall man with a solid, steady face and cautious eyes, not in truth remarkable except to his own wife.

“That fellow Courtier’s caught by the leg,” he said.  “Don’t know what your Mother will say to an enemy in the camp.”

“Isn’t he a freethinker, and rather——­”

Sir William, following his own thoughts, interrupted: 

“Just as well, of course, so far as Miltoun’s concerned, to have got him here.”

Agatha sighed:  “Well, I suppose we shall have to be nice to him.  I’ll tell Mother.”

Sir William smiled.

“Ann will see to that,” he said.

Ann was seeing to that.

Seated in the embrasure of the window behind the looking-glass, where Lady Valleys was still occupied, she was saying: 

“He fell out of the window because of the red pepper.  Miss Wallace says he is a hostage—­what does hostage mean, Granny?”

When six years ago that word had first fallen on Lady Valleys’ ears, she had thought:  “Oh! dear!  Am I really Granny?” It had been a shock, had seemed the end of so much; but the matter-of-fact heroism of women, so much quicker to accept the inevitable than men, had soon come to her aid, and now, unlike her husband, she did not care a bit.  For all that she answered nothing, partly because it was not necessary to speak in order to sustain a conversation with little Ann, and partly because she was deep in thought.

The man was injured!  Hospitality, of course—­especially since their own tenants had committed the outrage!  Still, to welcome a man who had gone out of his way to come down here and stump the country against her own son, was rather a tall order.  It might have been worse, no doubt.  If; for instance, he had been some ‘impossible’ Nonconformist Radical!  This Mr. Courtier was a free lance—­rather a well-known man, an interesting creature.  She must see that he felt ‘at home’ and comfortable.  If he were pumped judiciously, no doubt one could find out about this woman.  Moreover, the acceptance of their ‘salt’ would silence him politically if she knew anything of that type of man, who always had something in him of the Arab’s creed.  Her mind, that of a capable administrator, took in all the practical significance of this incident, which, although untoward, was not without its comic side to one disposed to find zest and humour in everything that did not absolutely run counter to her interests and philosophy.

The voice of little Ann broke in on her reflections.