"Won't you have a cigar?"

He held out the case he had just tendered to Haskett, and Varick helped
himself with a smile. Waythorn looked about for a match, and finding
none, proffered a light from his own cigar. Haskett, in the background,
held his ground mildly, examining his cigar-tip now and then, and
stepping forward at the right moment to knock its ashes into the fire.

The footman at last withdrew, and Varick immediately began: "If I could
just say half a word to you about this business--"

"Certainly," stammered Waythorn; "in the dining-room--"

But as he placed his hand on the door it opened from without, and his
wife appeared on the threshold.

She came in fresh and smiling, in her street dress and hat, shedding a
fragrance from the boa which she loosened in advancing.

"Shall we have tea in here, dear?" she began; and then she caught sight
of Varick. Her smile deepened, veiling a slight tremor of surprise.
"Why, how do you do?" she said with a distinct note of pleasure.

As she shook hands with Varick she saw Haskett standing behind him. Her
smile faded for a moment, but she recalled it quickly, with a scarcely
perceptible side-glance at Waythorn.

"How do you do, Mr. Haskett?" she said, and shook hands with him a
shade less cordially.

The three men stood awkwardly before her, till Varick, always the most
self-possessed, dashed into an explanatory phrase.

"We--I had to see Waythorn a moment on business," he stammered,
brick-red from chin to nape.

Haskett stepped forward with his air of mild obstinacy. "I am sorry to
intrude; but you appointed five o'clock--" he directed his resigned
glance to the time-piece on the mantel.

She swept aside their embarrassment with a charming gesture of
hospitality.

"I'm so sorry--I'm always late; but the afternoon was so lovely." She
stood drawing her gloves off, propitiatory and graceful, diffusing
about her a sense of ease and familiarity in which the situation lost
its grotesqueness. "But before talking business," she added brightly,
"I'm sure every one wants a cup of tea."

She dropped into her low chair by the tea-table, and the two visitors,
as if drawn by her smile, advanced to receive the cups she held out.

She glanced about for Waythorn, and he took the third cup with a laugh.

EXPIATION

I.

"I CAN never," said Mrs. Fetherel, "hear the bell ring without a
shudder."

Her unruffled aspect--she was the kind of woman whose emotions ne