A quick pressure on my arm silenced me, and then I noticed that we
were not alone. Two or three ladies stood near, watching me, and
one had evidently been using some restorative, for she held a
small vinaigrette in her hand. To this lady, George made haste to
introduce me, and from her I presently learned the cause of the
disturbance in the hotel.

It was of a somewhat different nature from what I expected, and
during the recital, I could not prevent myself from casting furtive
and inquiring glances at George.

Edith, the well-known daughter of Moses Challoner, had fallen
suddenly dead on the floor of the mezzanine. She was not known to
have been in poor health, still less in danger of a fatal attack,
and the shock was consequently great to her friends, several of
whom were in the building. Indeed, it was likely to prove a shock
to the whole community, for she had great claims to general
admiration, and her death must be regarded as a calamity to persons
in all stations of life.

I realised this myself, for I had heard much of the young lady's
private virtues, as well as of her great beauty and distinguished
manner. A heavy loss, indeed, but--

"Was she alone when she fell?" I asked.

"Virtually alone. Some persons sat on the other side of the room,
reading at the big round table. They did not even hear her fall.
They say that the band was playing unusually loud in the musicians'