“I don’t want anyone to be bothered about the moving of those pictures, Mr. Otter,” said Wolf; for he seemed to see with terrible distinctness the devoted lady of the house struggling alone with those heavy frames. “You must allow me to do it myself. In fact,” he went on, in what he tried to make a casual, airy tone, “I’m going to beg Mrs. Otter to let me treat that room as if it were an unfurnished flat of my own.”

The head opposite him was so grey that he felt as if he were addressing this hint to Mrs. Otter’s husband rather than to her son.

Very gently, moving delicately, like Agag before Samuel, Jason rose to his feet. “I think we’d better get those pictures changed now,” he whispered earnestly, in a grave, conspiring voice.

Wolf tried to retain his airy, casual manner in the face of this gravity.