“Oh!” cried Mrs. Marshall, checking herself in a sudden deprecatory gesture of apology towards her sister-in-law.  She looked at her husband and gave him a silent, urgent message to break the awkward pause, a message which he disregarded, continuing coolly to inspect his fingernails with an abstracted air, contradicted by the half-smile on his lips.  Sylvia, listening to the talk, could make nothing out of it, but miserably felt her little heart grow leaden as she looked from one face to another.  Judith and Lawrence, tired of waiting for the music to begin, had dropped asleep among the pillows of the divan.  Mr. Bauermeister yawned, looked at the clock, and plucked at the strings of his violin.  He hated all talk as a waste of time.  Old Reinhardt’s simple face looked as puzzled and uneasy as Sylvia’s own.  Young Mr. Saunders seemed to have no idea that there was anything particularly unsettling in the situation, but, disliking the caustic vehemence of his old colleague’s speech, inter-posed to turn it from the lady by his side.  “And you’re the man who’s opposed on principle to sweeping generalizations!” he said in cheerful rebuke.

“Ah, I’ve just come from a gathering of the Clan Kennedy,” repeated the older man.  “I defy anybody to produce a more successfully predatory family than mine.  The fortunes of the present generation of Kennedys don’t come from any white-livered subterfuge, like the rise in the value of real estate, as my own ill-owned money does.  No, sir; the good, old, well-recognized, red-blooded method of going out and taking it away from people not so smart as they are, is good enough for them, if you please.  And my woman relatives—­” He swept them away with a gesture.  “When I—­”

Mrs. Marshall cut him short resolutely.  “Are you going to have any music tonight, or aren’t you?” she said.

He looked at her with a sudden, unexpected softening of his somber eyes.  “Do you know, Barbara Marshall, that there are times when you keep one unhappy old misanthrope from despairing of his kind?”

She had at this unlooked-for speech only the most honest astonishment.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said bluntly.

Judith stirred in her sleep and woke up blinking.  When she saw that Professor Kennedy had come in, she did what Sylvia would never have dared do; she ran to him and climbed up on his knee, laying her shining, dark head against his shoulder.  The old man’s arms closed around her.  “Well, spitfire,” he said, “comment ca roule, eh?”

Judith did not trouble herself to answer.  With a gesture of tenderness, as unexpected as his speech to her mother, her old friend laid his cheek against hers.  “You’re another, Judy, You’ll never marry a dolichocephalic blond and make him pull the chestnuts out of the fire for you, will you?” he said confidently.

Mrs. Marshall rose with the exasperated air of one whose patience is gone.  She made a step as though to shield her husband’s sister from the cantankerous old man.  “If I hear another word of argument in this house tonight—­” she threatened.  “Mr. Reinhardt, what are these people here for?”