She began to count with the inexorable regularity of a clock's ticking.
In the room every sound was distinct, the rustle of a dress, the grinding of a shoe, the deep, slightly asthmatic breathing of a man.
"Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three—"
She continued to count, while in the methodic unvarying note of her voice there was a rasping reiteration that began to affect the company. A slight gasping breath, uncontrollable, almost on the verge of hysterics, was heard, and a man nervously clearing his throat.
"Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven—"
Still nothing had happened. Mrs. Kildair did not vary her measure the slightest, only the sound became more metallic.
"Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine and seventy—"
Some one had sighed.
"Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven—"
All at once, clear, unmistakable, on the resounding plane of the table was heard a slight metallic note.