One evening Molly had been with Mrs. Delaport Green and two young men to a play.  It was a play that represented a kind of female “Raffles”—­a thief in the highest ranks of society, and the lady Raffles had black hair.  The lady stole diamonds, and fascinated detectives, and even beguiled the ruffianly burglar who had wanted the diamonds for himself.  It was a far-fetched comparison indeed, but it worried and excited Molly to the last degree.  They went back to supper at Miss Dexter’s house, and there one more lady and another man joined them.  They sat at a gorgeous little supper at a round table in the small dining-room, Mrs. Delaport Green opposite Molly, and Lady Sophia Snaggs, a spirited, cheery Irishwoman, separated from the hostess by Billy, with whom the latter had always, in the past weeks, been ready to discuss the poverty and the failings of Sir Edmund Grosse.  Of the other two men, one was elderly, bald, greedy, fat and witty, and the other was a soldier, spare, red and rather silent but extremely popular for some happy combination of qualities and excellent manners.  It would seem hardly worth while to say even this little about them, only that it proved of some importance that the few people who heard Molly’s words that night, and certainly repeated them afterwards, had unfortunately rather different and rather wide opportunities of making them known.

The Florentine looking-glasses that once belonged to Sir Edmund Grosse, with their wondrous wreaths of painted flowers, looked down from three sides of the room and reflected the pretty women and their gowns, the old silver, the rare glass, and the flowers.  They were probably refreshed by the exquisite taste of the little banquet that might recall the first reflection of their youth.  Morally there was a rift within the lute among the guests, for Molly betrayed that Adela had got on her nerves.  Lady Sophia Snaggs poured easy conversation on the troubled waters, but at last the catastrophe could not be averted.

At a moment when the others were silent Adela was talking.

“Yes; I went to hear him preach, and it is so beautiful, you know.  Crowds; the church was packed, and many people cried.  You should go.  And then one feels how real it is for him to preach against the world, because he gave up so much.”

Molly drained her glass of champagne and leant across.

“Whom are you talking about?”

“Father Molyneux.”

“I thought so.”

“Have you heard him preach?” asked Lady Sophy.

“I used to, but I never go now.”  She again leant forward and spoke this time with unconcealed irritation.  “Adela, I don’t go now because I know too much about him.”

There was immediate sensation.

Molly slowly lit a cigarette.  Even then she did not know what she was going to say, but she had determined on the spur of the moment, and chiefly from sheer terror, to put Mark out of court if she possibly could.