But the glow from the hearth, uncertain enough for their innocent
deeds of darkness, had now to fade before the chandelier, and Mrs.
Marchmont, somewhat surprised at the rumpled plumage of the young
ladies, and the fact that Mr. De Forrest's neck-tie was awry,
suggested that they retire and prepare for supper, whereat they
retreated in literal disorder. But without the door their old
frenzy seized them, and they nearly ran over the dilatory Bel upon
the stairs. With sallies of nonsense, smothered laughter, a breezy
rustle of garments, and the rush of swift motion, they seemed to
die away in the upper halls like a summer gust. To Mrs. Marchmont
their departure had seemed like a suppressed whirlwind.

"The young people of my day were more decorous," soliloquized the
lady, complacently. "But then the De Forrests have French blood in
them, and what else could you expect? It's he that sets them off."

The sound of approaching sleigh-bells hastened the young people's
toilets, and when they descended the stairs, this time like
a funeral procession, a tall figure, with one side that had been
to the windward well sifted over with snow, was just entering the
hall.

Mrs. Marchmont welcomed him with as much warmth as she ever permitted
herself to show. She was a good and kind lady at heart, only she
insisted upon covering the natural bloom and beauty of her nature
with the artificial enamel of mannerism and conventionality. During
the unwrapping process the young people stood in the background,
but Lottie watched the emergence from overcoat and muffler of the
predestined victim of her wiles with more than ordinary curiosity.