He returned in a few minutes with the carriage and driver, and they started off.  Brent sat in front, and Honora explained to Mrs. Holt the appearance of the various places by daylight, and the names of their owners.  The elderly lady looked with considerable interest at the blazing lights of the Club, with the same sensations she would no doubt have had if she had been suddenly set down within the Moulin Rouge.  Shortly afterwards they turned in at the gate of “The Brackens.”  The light streamed across the porch and driveway, and the sound of music floated out of the open windows.  Within, the figure of Mrs. Barclay could be seen; she was singing vaudeville songs at the piano.  Mrs. Holt’s lips were tightly shut as she descended and made her way up the steps.

“I hope you’ll come in,”, said Honora to Trixton Brent, in a low voice.

“Come in!” he replied, “I wouldn’t miss it for ten thousand dollars.”

Mrs. Holt was the first of the three to appear at the door of the drawing-room, and Mrs. Barclay caught sight of her, and stopped in the middle of a bar, with her mouth open.  Some of the guests had left.  A table in the corner, where Lula Chandos had insisted on playing bridge, was covered with scattered cards and some bills, a decanter of whiskey, two soda bottles, and two glasses.  The blue curling smoke from Mrs. Chandos’ cigarette mingled with the haze that hung between the ceiling and the floor, and that lady was in the act of saying cheerfully to Howard, who sat opposite,—­“Trixy’s run off with her.”

Suddenly the chill of silence pervaded the room.  Lula Chandos, whose back was turned to the door, looked from Mrs. Barclay to Howard, who, with the other men had risen to his feet.

“What’s the matter?” she said in a frightened tone.  And, following the eyes of the others, turned her head slowly towards the doorway.

Mrs. Holt, who filled it, had been literally incapable of speech.  Close behind her stood Honora and Trixton whose face was inscrutable.

“Howard,” said Honora, summoning all the courage that remained in her, “here’s Mrs. Holt.  We dined with her, and she was good enough to come down for the night.  I’m so sorry not to have been here,” she added to her guests, “but we went to Westchester with Mrs. Kame and Mr. Grainger, and the automobile broke down on the way back.”

Mrs. Holt made no attempt to enter, but stared fixedly at the cigarette that Mrs. Chandos still held in her trembling fingers.  Howard crossed the room in the midst of an intense silence.

“Glad to see you, Mrs. Holt,” he said.  “Er—­won’t you come in and—­and sit down?”

“Thank you, Howard” she replied, “I do not wish to interrupt your party.  It is my usual hour for retiring.

“And I think, my dear,” she added, turning to Honora, “that I’ll ask you to excuse me, and show me to my room.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Holt,” said Honora, breathlessly.