Perhaps it was fear of her that made him dumb, perhaps that at last he knew himself for what he was by contrast with the man whose vices he had so heartily despised a while ago.
Shrinking back before her anger, he racked his shallow mind in vain for a fitting answer.

But ere he had found one, a heavy step sounded in the gallery that overlooked the hall, and a moment later Gregory Ashburn descended.

His face was ghastly white, and a heavy frown furrowed the space betwixt his brows.
In the fleeting glance she bestowed upon her father, she remarked not the disorder of his countenance; whilst as for Kenneth, he had enough to hold his attention for the time.
Gregory's advent set an awkward constraint upon them, nor had he any word to say as he came heavily up the hall.
At the lower end of the long table he paused, and resting his hand upon the board, he seemed on the point of speaking when of a sudden a sound reached him that caused him to draw a sharp breath; it was the rumble of wheels and the crack of a whip.
"It is Joseph!" he cried, in a voice the relief of which was so marked that Cynthia noticed it.

And with that exclamation he flung past them, and out through the doorway to meet his brother so opportunely returned.
He reached the terrace steps as the coach pulled up, and the lean figure of Joseph Ashburn emerged from it.
"So, Gregory," he grumbled for greeting, "it was on a fool's errand you sent me, after all.

That knave, your messenger, found me in London at last when I had outworn my welcome at Whitehall.