Mrs. Holt was the first of the three to appear at the door of the
drawing-room, and Mrs. Barclay caught sight of her, and stopped in the
middle of a bar, with her mouth open. Some of the guests had left. A
table in the corner, where Lula Chandos had insisted on playing bridge,
was covered with scattered cards and some bills, a decanter of whiskey,
two soda bottles, and two glasses. The blue curling smoke from Mrs.
Chandos' cigarette mingled with the haze that hung between the ceiling
and the floor, and that lady was in the act of saying cheerfully to
Howard, who sat opposite,--"Trixy's run off with her."

Suddenly the chill of silence pervaded the room. Lula Chandos, whose back
was turned to the door, looked from Mrs. Barclay to Howard, who, with the
other men had risen to his feet.

"What's the matter?" she said in a frightened tone. And, following the
eyes of the others, turned her head slowly towards the doorway.

Mrs. Holt, who filled it, had been literally incapable of speech. Close
behind her stood Honora and Trixton whose face was inscrutable.

"Howard," said Honora, summoning all the courage that remained in her,
"here's Mrs. Holt. We dined with her, and she was good enough to come
down for the night. I'm so sorry not to have been here," she added to her
guests, "but we went to Westchester with Mrs. Kame and Mr. Grainger, and
the automobile broke down on the way back."

Mrs. Holt made no attempt to enter, but stared fixedly at the cigarette
that Mrs. Chandos still held in her trembling fingers. Howard crossed the
room in the midst of an intense silence.