Then there was a sudden movement and stir. Gilbert Lothian was saying good-night.
He had remembered that he really had some work to do before going to bed, some letters to write, as a matter of fact. He was shaking hands with every one.
"I do hope that I shall have the pleasure of hearing you play some more Chopin before long, Miss Amberley! Thank you so much Mrs. Amberley—I'm going to write a poem about your beautiful Dining Room. I suppose we shall meet at the Authors' Club dinner on Saturday, Mr. Toftrees?—so interested to have met you at last."
. . . The people in the drawing room heard him chattering vivaciously to Mr. Amberley, who had accompanied his departing guest into the hall.
No one said a single word. They heard the front door close, and the steps of the master of the house as he returned to them. They were all waiting.
When Amberley came in he made a courtly attempt at ignoring what had just occurred. The calm surface of the evening had been rudely disturbed—yes! For once even an Amberley party had gone wrong—there was to be no fun from this meeting of young folk to-night.
But it was Mrs. Amberley who spoke. She really could not help it. Mrs. Toftrees had been telling her of various rumours concerning Gilbert Lothian some time before the episode at the piano, and with all her tolerance Mrs. Amberley was thoroughly angry.
That such a thing should have happened in her house, before Muriel and her girl friend—oh! it was unthinkable!
"So Mr. Gilbert Lothian has gone," she said with considerable emphasis.
"Yes, dear," Mr. Amberley answered as he sat down again, willing enough that nothing more should be said.