"Household pets, eh!" Wolvert's voice rang out in a strident laugh and he seized the wine glass from Madame Cimmino's detaining hand. "Let's drink to them! To the ghosts of yester-year! May their shadows never grow less!"
Watching, Betty saw his eyes stray past her once more, and the glass halted half-way to his lips. For an instant a sick horror stole over her and then she heard Mrs. Atterbury's calm, level tones.
"That is a toast for Hallowe'en, Jack, but not apropos now. Why drag in bogies when you can pledge other things more to your taste?"
"Beauty, my boy, and youth. That's the ticket, eh?" Mortie Dana looked up from the hothouse pear he was peeling with placid precision. "Me for the youth thing every time—until Louise tries to teach me the new dance steps. Then I pass."
Under cover of the titter which ran around the table, Mrs. Atterbury collected the eyes of her women guests, and they retired to the drawing-room for coffee. Betty hesitated in the doorway, declining Welch's proffered tray and her employer smiled tolerantly.
"You are tired? My dear, run along to bed, if you like. You have been indoors all day and busy, and I forgot that your head ached. If you cannot sleep, ring for Caroline, and she will give you a bromide."
Betty thankfully availed herself of the opportunity and made her escape, but sleep was furthest from her thoughts. The hideous mystery still hammered at the gates of her brain, and could not be dismissed, but she was grateful at least for solitude that she might relax from the strain of dissimulation.
She wrapped a loose robe about her, unbound her hair and extinguishing the light threw herself on the chaise longue before the hearth. A pale moon rode high in the sky, glinting on the frost-laden cedars beyond her window, and the smouldering coals in the grate cast a cheerful ruddy glow about her. In the tranquil reality, it seemed incredible that tragedy and crime could have lurked beneath that roof so short a time before. In a swift revulsion of feeling the girl wondered if the suspicion and watchfulness which she had read on every face save those of the Danas, could have been, after all, but the product of her imagination.
A sudden sharp scream, muffled but unmistakable, brought her to her feet with her heart beating wildly. How long she had lain there, in the lethargy of a complete reaction, she had no means of knowing. The cry was not repeated, but the silence seemed pregnable with unnameable horror, and unable to control herself, Betty stole to her door and opened it. Then she paused, rigid with surprise. A few paces away, the maid, Caroline, sat on guard.
"Did you want something, Miss?" The woman rose respectfully, but her eyes did not meet the girl's. "Mrs. Atterbury said you might need me."