XVIII
£1200
NEd Cromarty had returned home and was going upstairs, when he heard a voice cry:
"Ned!"
The ancient stone stair, spiralling up round the time-worn pillar that seemed to have no beginning or end, gave at intervals on to doors which looked like apertures in a cliff. Through one of these he turned and at the end of a brief passage came to his sister's sitting room. In that mediæval setting of ponderous stone, it looked almost fantastic in its daintiness. It was a small room of many cushions and many colours, its floor covered with the softest rugs and its walls with innumerable photographs, largely of country houses where Miss Cromarty had visited.
Evidently she was a lady accustomed to a comfortable life in her roving days, and her sitting room seemed to indicate very distinctly that she proposed to live up to this high standard permanently.
"Oh Neddy dear, I want to talk to you about something," she began in her brisk way and with her brightest smile.
Her brother, though of a simple nature, was by this time aware that when he was termed "Neddy
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