But Barker knew the house better than the most of the guests, and passing through the little room for which every one seemed fighting, he drew aside a heavy curtain and showed a small boudoir beyond, lighted with a solitary branch of candles, and occupied by a solitary couple.  Barker had hoped to find this sanctum empty, and as he pushed two chairs together he eyed the other pair savagely.

“What a charming little room,” said Margaret, sinking into the soft chair and glancing at the walls and ceiling, which were elaborately adorned in the Japanese fashion.  The chairs also were framed of bamboo, and the table was of an unusual shape.  It was the “Japanese parlour[3],” as Mrs. Van Sueindell would have called it.  Every great house in New York has a Japanese or a Chinese room.  The entire contents of the apartment having been brought direct from Yokohama, the effect was harmonious, and Margaret’s artistic sense was pleased.

[Footnote 3:  Parlour or parlor, American for “sitting-room.”]

“Is it not?” said Barker, glad to have brought her to a place she liked.  “I thought you would like it, and I hoped,” lowering his voice, “that we should find it empty.  Only people who come here a great deal know about it.”

“Then you come here often?” asked Margaret, to say something.  She was glad to be out of the din, for though she had anticipated some pleasure from the party, she discovered too late that she had made a mistake, and would rather be at home.  She had so much to think of, since receiving that telegram; and so, forgetting Barker and everything else, she followed her own train of thought.  Barker talked on, and Margaret seemed to be listening—­but it was not the music, muffled through the heavy curtains, nor the small voice of Mr. Barker that she heard.  It was the washing of the sea and the creaking of cordage that were in her ears—­the rush of the ship that was to bring him back—­that was perhaps bringing him back already.  When would he come?  How soon?  If it could only be to-morrow, she would so like to—­what in the world is Mr. Barker saying so earnestly?  Really, she ought to listen.  It was very rude.  “Conscious of my many defects of character—­” Oh yes, he was always talking about his defects; what next? “—­conscious of my many defects of character,” Mr. Barker was saying, in an even, determined voice, “and feeling deeply how far behind you I am in those cultivated pursuits you most enjoy, I would nevertheless scorn to enlarge upon my advantages, the more so as I believe you are acquainted with my circumstances.”

Good gracious! thought Margaret, suddenly recovering the acutest use of her hearing, what is the man going to say?  And she looked fixedly at him with an expression of some astonishment.

“Considering, as I was saying,” he continued steadily, “those advantages upon which I will not enlarge, may I ask you to listen to what I am going to say?”

Margaret, having lost the first part of Barker’s speech completely, in her fit of abstraction, had some vague idea that he was asking her advice about marrying some other woman.