into the dining-room, and came back with a decanter and glass on a
little tray. She gave a distressed glance at her other guest as though
to say, "I can't help it!"

Benjamin Wright's old head in its brown wig was still shaking with
fatigue, but under the prickle of white on his shaven jowl the
purplish color came back in mottled streaks. He sipped the sherry
breathlessly, the glass trembling in his veined and shrunken hand.
"Well," he demanded, "how do you two like this God-forsaken place?"

Mr. Pryor, looking over their visitor's head at Helena, shrugged his
shoulders.

"It is very nice," she said vaguely,

"It's a narrowing place," he demurred, "very narrowing; sit down, sit
down, good people! I'll take some more sherry. My grandson," he went
on, as Helena filled his glass, "is always talking about you, madam.
He's a great jackass. I'm afraid he bothers you with his calls?"

"Oh, not at all," Helena said nervously. She sat down on the other
side of the big rosewood centre-table, glancing with worried eyes at
Lloyd Pryor.

"Move that lamp contraption," commanded Mr. Wright. "I like to see my
hostess!"

And Helena pushed the astral lamp from the centre of the table so that
his view was unobstructed.