"Ah!" said Lord Detchmore, "then I must go. If I talk to him any more I'm a lost man."
"There's Mr. Loring in the corner—no, not that corner; that's Marjory Valentine. He will take your side."
"Why are they all in corners?" asked Detchmore.
"They don't want to be trodden on," said Adela, with a grimace. "You'd better take one too."
"There's Mrs. Dennison in a third corner. Shall I take that one, or should I get trodden on there?"
Adela looked up swiftly. His remark hinted at gossip afloat.
"Take one for yourself," she began, with an uneasy laugh. But the laugh suddenly became genuine for the very absurdity of the thing. "We'll go and join Mr. Loring, shall we?" she proposed.
Lord Detchmore acquiesced, and they walked over to where Tom stood. On their way, to their consternation, they encountered Willie Ruston.
"Now we're in for it," breathed Detchmore in low tones. But Ruston, with a bow, passed on, going straight as an arrow towards where Maggie Dennison sat. Lord Detchmore raised his eyebrows, Adela shut her fan with a click, Tom Loring, when they reached him, was frowning. Away across the room sat Marjory alone.
"Good heavens! he let me alone!" exclaimed Lord Detchmore.