Mrs. Barton walked on in front; the girls drew together like birds. They
were amazed at the stateliness of the library, and they marvelled at the
richness of the chandeliers and the curiously assorted pictures. The
company was assembled in a small room at the end of the suite.

Two tall, bony, high-nosed women advanced and shook hands menacingly
with Mrs. Barton. They were dressed alike in beautiful gowns of
gold-brown plush.

With a cutting stare and a few cold conventional words, they welcomed
Olive and Alice home to the country again. Lord Dungory whispered
something to Mrs. Barton. Olive passed across the room; the black coats
gave way, and, as a white rose in a blood-coloured glass, her shoulders
rose out of the red tulle. Captain Hibbert twisted his brown-gold
moustache, and, with the critical gaze of the connoisseur, examined the
undulating lines of the arms, the delicate waist, and the sloping hips:
her skirts seemed to fall before his looks.

Immediately after, the roaring of a gong was heard, and the form of the
stately butler was seen approaching. Lord Dungory and Lady Jane
exchanged looks. The former offered his arm to Mrs. Gould; the latter,
her finger on her lips, in a movement expressive of profound meditation,
said:

'Mr. Ryan, will you take down Mrs. Barton; Mr. Scully, will you take
Miss Olive Barton; Mr. Adair, will you take Miss Gould; Mr. Lynch, will
you take Miss Alice Barton; Mr. Burke, will you take my sister?' Then,
smiling at the thought that she had checkmated her father, who had
ordered that Olive Barton should go down with Captain Hibbert, she took