"Ah, Miss Lydia's pet cup! and her little favorite statuette!"
"Hideous things! I'm glad they're smashed."
"Will you equally enjoy imparting to her the fact of their loss?"
"Somebody else may do that. I had my share telling her about Phebe."
"I suppose she was terribly shocked, poor old soul. I don't wonder."
"She had an instant attack of hysterics, and I did wonder," rejoined Gerald, tartly. "But as I told you, women are always fools, and nervous women the worst ones, I haven't any patience with them. I was vexed enough with her for keeping me from Phebe. I don't believe she was ever hurried so out of an attack before."
"I'm afraid there's need of a broom or something here, Miss Vernor. This vase is in a thousand pieces."
Gerald seized the hearth-brush and was on her knees by him in a moment.
"The lamp, please, Mr. Halloway. Set it on the floor an instant."
Denham moved it as desired, and stood looking down at her as she began deftly brushing up the scattered bits.
"Miss Vernor!" he suddenly exclaimed in a shocked voice. The bright light, falling broadly across her hands, showed two great angry-red blotches just above one of the delicate wrists. He stooped and laid masterful hold of the long handle of the brush.