about abruptly, Maude Lille rose a little from her seat, while the men
imitated these movements of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the
feet.

"Mr. Enos Jackson?"

"Yes, Mrs. Kildair."

"Kindly do as I ask you."

"Certainly."

She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was almost
an accusation. He rose calmly, raising his eyebrows a little in
surprise.

"Go to the door," she continued, shifting her glance from him to the
others. "Are you there? Lock it. Bring me the key."

He executed the order without bungling, and returning stood before her,
tendering the key.

"You've locked it?" she said, making the words an excuse to bury her
glance in his.

"As you wished me to."

"Thanks."

She took from him the key and, shifting slightly, likewise locked the