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"Oh, he couldn't say anything right out," replied Griffin knowingly, "but he made it hot for us, I tell you. Poor old Bottle Green caught it first, for painting before he'd given her permission, and then he jumped on me for not painting. Radford caught it and then he lit on Slovinski for using the Whistler palette, and she just blew up! These Poles aren't like us tame tabbies, you know, and she's full of ginger, for all her sleepy ways. She's terribly high-born, you know, and can't bear anyone to look cross-eyed at her." Patricia heaved a deep sigh. "Well, I must say," she said with a triumphant look at Miss Jinny, "I do believe in first impressions and I'm glad I always liked Doris Leighton." Tom Hughes, who had been surreptitiously glancing at his watch beneath the table cover, spoke reluctantly..

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"Thank you so much," she said in a tone of such even sweetness that Patricia felt uncomfortable, though she did not know why. "Who's talking about me?" demanded Judith's high treble, and they turned to see her in the doorway, silhouetted against the brilliantly lighted hall. Judith's voice came plaintively from her room. He was half-clothed, pale as the white dress of Isabella Dallas, and evidently, from the wild look in his eyes and the quivering of his nether lip, badly scared. Stopping short a few paces from the door, he held up the lamp which he carried, to survey the astonishing scene before him. The sight of Jen tongue-tied and immovable, of Isabella weeping on her knees by the bedside, of the bed itself vacant of its dead occupant--all these things were calculated to shock even stronger nerves than those of David Sarby. Nevertheless, after a pause of sheer astonishment, he managed to stammer out a question:.