"Here we are!" cried Luttrell from the library, and in a lower tone to Joan, he observed, "What a bore people are to be sure, aren't they?"
The guilty couple emerged into the hall. Sir Chichester surveyed them with severity.
"I don't know whether you have heard about it, Luttrell, but there's a ball to-night at Harrel, and we all rather thought of going to it," he remarked with crushing sarcasm.
"I am quite ready, sir," replied Harry humbly. Sir Chichester was mollified.
"Very well then. We'll go."
"But Mrs. Croyle isn't down yet," said Miranda.
"Stella isn't going, dear," answered Millie Splay; and a cry of dismay burst from Joan.
"Not going!"
The consternation in the girl's voice was so pronounced that every eye in that hall turned to her in astonishment. There was consternation, too, most legible in her widely-opened eyes. Her cheeks had lost their colour. She stood for a fleeting moment before them all, an image of terror. Then she caught at an excuse.
"Stella's ill then—since she's not going."