At this moment men's voices were heard on the staircase. The ladies all
looked up, the light defining the corner of a forehead, the outline of a
nose and chin, bathing a neck in warm shadow, modelling a shoulder with
grey tints, sending a thousand rays flashing through the diamonds on the
bosom, touching the finger-rings, and lastly dying away amid the folds
of the dresses that trailed on the soft carpet. Mr. Ryan, walking with
his habitual roll and his hands in his pockets, entered. His tie was
under his left ear. Mr. Lynch, haunted by the idea that he had not made
himself agreeable to Alice during dinner, sat down beside her. Mr.
Scully made a rush for May. Tall, handsome Captain Hibbert, with his air
of conventional high style, quitted Lord Dungory, and asked Olive what
they had been saying since they left the dining-room. Mr. Burke tried to
join in the conversation, but Mr. Ryan, thinking it would be as well not
to let the occasion slip of speaking of a certain 'bay harse who'd jump
anythin',' took him confidentially by the sleeve.

'Now, look here, will yer,' he began. The rest of his remarks were lost
in the hum of the conversation, and by well-bred transitions
observations were made on the dancing and hunting prospects of the
season. Mr. Adair took no interest in such subjects, and to everyone's
relief he remained silent. May and Fred Scully had withdrawn to a corner
of the room where they could talk more at their ease; Captain Hibbert
was conscious of nothing but Olive and her laughter, which rippled and
tinkled through an odour of coffee.

Little by little she was gaining the attention of the room. Mr. Adair
ceased to listen to Lord Dungory, who was explaining why Leonardo da
Vinci was a greater painter than Titian. Mr. Lynch left off talking to
Alice; the little blonde honourable looked sillier and sillier as his