CHAPTER III


There is generally something a little dull and formal during the first
evening of a country house party; and if this is true when most of the
people know each other, how far more so is it the case with such a party
as that which was now gathered together at Wyndfell Hall!

Lionel Varick sat at one end of the long oak refectory table, Blanche
Farrow at the other. But though the table was far wider than are most
refectory tables (it was believed to be, because of its width, a unique
specimen), yet Blanche, very soon after they had sat down, told herself
that there was something to be said, after all, for the old-fashioned,
Victorian mahogany. Such a party as was this party would have sorted
themselves out, and really enjoyed themselves much more, sitting in
couples round an ordinary dining-table, than at this narrow, erstwhile
monastic board. Here they were just a little bit too near together--too
much _vis-à-vis_, so Blanche put it to herself with a dissatisfied
feeling.

But soon things began going a little better. It had been her suggestion
that champagne should be offered with the soup, and already it was
having an effect. She was relieved to see that the oddly assorted men
and women about her were brisking up, and beginning to talk, even to
laugh, with one another.

On the host's right sat Miss Burnaby. She was at once quaint and
commonplace looking, the most noticeable thing about her being the fact
that she wore a cap. It was made of fine Mechlin lace threaded with