John said something in that too discreet voice of his, and then Jervaise
scowled and looked round at the ascending humanity of the staircase. His
son Frank detached himself from the swarm, politely picked his way down
into the Hall, and began to put John under a severe cross-examination.

"What's up now, do you suppose?" Miss Tattersall asked, with the least
tremor of excitement sounding in her voice.

"Perhaps the chauffeur has followed the example of Carter, and afterwards
hidden his shame," I suggested.

I was surprised by the warmth of her contradiction. "Oh, no" she said. "He
isn't the least that sort of man." She said it as if I had aspersed the
character of one of her friends.

"He seems to have gone, disappeared, any-way," I replied.

"It's getting frightfully mysterious," Miss Tattersall agreed, and added
inconsequently, "He's got a strong face, you know; keen--looks as if he'd
get his own way about things, though, of course, he isn't a gentleman."

I had a suspicion that she had been flirting with the romantic chauffeur.
She was the sort of young woman who would flirt with any one.

I wished they would open that Hall door again. The action of my play had
become dispersed and confused. Frank Jervaise had gone off through the
baize door with John, and the Sturtons and their host and hostess were
moving reluctantly towards the drawing-room.

"We might almost as well go and sit down somewhere," I suggested to Miss