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having a
    terrible row in the study, shouting their heads off. You're best out of
    it.'
    'Crispin's doing all the shouting,' James supplied. 'Flynn's talking in
    that quiet, cold voice that I don't like.' He turned to Sandie. 'He
    wants you packed off back to England,' he informed her.
    Sandie's heart sank. 'Oh, no! But why?'
    Steffie giggled. 'Because he thinks you're Crispin's bit on the side,'
    she said airily.
    By rights, Sandie should have administered some well-chosen
    reproof, but she was too angry.
    'Well, he couldn't be more wrong,' she said curtly. 'And what
    business is it of his, anyway?'
    'Oh, everything that happens at Killane is Flynn's business,' Steffie
    said sunnily. 'After all, it's his house, and Bridie says we're only here
    on—on suffrage,' she added doubtfully.
    'Sufferance,' Sandie corrected automatically. But the twins were
    already heading for the front door, and after a moment's hesitation,
    she followed.
    What an autocrat! she thought, smouldering. What a petty tryant—
    king of his rundown castle, and determined to let everyone know it!
    She had hoped that by now Crispin would have explained the
    situation to him, and got him to see some kind of reason. She'd even
    imagined some kind of apology coming her way, and had planned
    how she would accept it with icy dignity. But it seemed she had
    totally underestimated the depth of animosity between the brothers.
    And because of it, there would be no second chance for her. She was
    going to be shipped back to England as if she was in some kind of
    disgrace, when she was innocent of everything but wanting to be a
    professional pianist—and a little wistful thinking about Crispin. And
    what was really so shameful about that? she asked herself
    defensively.
    Flynn Killane was probably just jealous, she thought, her nails
    curling into the palms of her hands. He might be a top man in his
    field, but he had none of the fame enjoyed by the rest of his family.
    Nor had he anything like Crispin's good looks or charisma, she
    thought. In fact, he looked as if he knew more about street brawling
    than high finance.
    The horses were already waiting at the paddock fence for their
    visitors. Sandie joined in the apportioning of carrot and apple, and
    other titbits, and patted the velvet noses which came snuffling
    inquisitively towards her.
    'Do you want to come for a ride?' James asked.
    Sandie shook her head. 'I don't think so. I've come here to work—
    and to learn.'
    'Well, don't expect a lesson from Crispin today. He'll be slamming
    off somewhere in a temper like he always does.' Steffie giggled. 'I
    love it when Flynn comes home. There's always hell to pay!' She
    swung herself athletically on to the fence, and on to the back of the
    nearest horse, twisting her hand in its mane.
    'You're not going like that. Aren't you going to use a proper
    saddle—and a helmet?' Sandie watched in alarm, as James also
    mounted bareback.
    'Oh, we have them somewhere,' Steffie called back over her
    shoulder as she trotted off. 'But Flynn says we were born to break
    our bloody necks.'
    For such a critic of other people's morals and behaviour, Flynn
    Killane's- own remarks in the Rearing of his younger siblings could
    take some censoring, Sandie thought with disapproval.
    She turned back towards the house, and saw, her heart sinking, that
    O'Flaherty was striding briskly across the grass towards her.
    'Himself wants to see you in the study,' he announced brusquely,
    adding, 'And at once will be just grand.'
    Sandie toyed with the idea of sending back an equally curt message
    that Flynn Killane could go and jump in his own lake, but decided
    against it. Thrusting her hands in her pockets, she sauntered back to
    the house, with O'Flaherty in close attendance. Like some prison
    warder! she thought, seething.
    The study was a pleasant room, its walls lined with books, and with
    a large, old-fashioned desk occupying pride of place. Flynn Killane
    was standing, looking out of the