Some discreetly withdrew. Of these was Emanuel, who had the sensitiveness of an artist.
Andrew Dean presently perceived, after standing for some seconds like an imbecile stork on one leg, that the discretion of the others was worthy to be imitated. At the door he met Lilian, and they disappeared together arm in arm, as betrothed lovers should. Three people remained in that quarter of the drawing-room—Helen, her uncle, and Sarah Swetnam.
"Why, Nell," said Sarah, aghast, "what's the matter?"
"Nothing," said Helen, calmly.
"But surely you shake hands with Andrew when you meet him, don't you?"
"That depends how I feel, my dear," said Helen.
"Then something is the matter?"
"If you want to know," said Helen, with haughtiness, "in the hall, just now—that is—I—I overheard Mr. Dean say something about Emanuel Prockter's singing which I consider very improper."
"But we all——"
"I'm going out into the garden," said Helen.