A policeman was speaking austerely to a short, stout, shabbily-dressed woman of determined aspect, who bore the unmistakable stamp of those whose unquenchable desire it is to be where their presence is not desired, where it is even deprecated.
"Only ladies and gents with passes is admitted," the policeman was saying.
"But how can I get a pass?"
"I don't precisely know," said the policeman cautiously, "but I know it must be signed by Mr Vanbrunt or Mr Brown."
"I am the Duchess of Quorn, and I am an intimate friend of Mr Vanbrunt."
Janet passed the couple with a beating heart. But apparently there were no restrictions about persons going out, only about those trying to get in. The policeman made way for her at once, and she went down unchallenged.
In the billiard-room time was waxing short; was obviously running out.
The child had arrived from the country with his nurse. Monkey Brand took him in his arms at the door, and knelt down with him beside Cuckoo.
"Arty has come to say 'good-morning' to Mammy," he said, in a strangled, would-be cheerful voice.