ingled 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.

"Glad to see you, Mrs. Holt," he said. "Er--won't you come in and--and
sit down?"

"Thank you, Howard" she replied, "I do not wish to interrupt your party.
It is my usual hour for retiring.

"And I think, my dear," she added, turning to Honora, "that I'll ask you
to excuse me, and show me to my room."

"Certainly, Mrs. Holt," said Honora, breathlessly.

"Howard, ring the bell."

She led the way up the stairs to the guest-chamber with the rose paper
and the little balcony. As she closed the door gusts of laughter reached
them from the floor below, and she could plainly distinguish the voices
of May Barclay and Trixton Brent.

"I hope you'll be comfortable, Mrs. Holt," she said. "Your maid will be
in the little room across the hall and I believe you like breakfast at
eight."

"You mustn't let me keep you from your guests, Honora."

"Oh, Mrs. Holt," she said, on the verge of tears, "I don't want to go to
them. Really, I don't."

"It must be confessed," said Mrs. Holt, opening her handbag and taking
out the copy of the mission report, which had been carefully folded,
"that they seem to be able to get along very well without you. I
suppose I am too old to understand this modern way of living. How well
I remember one night--it was in 1886--I missed the train to Silverdale,
and m