"Mr. Cheever," she said abruptly.
"Yes, Mrs. Kildair."
"Put out all the candles except the candelabrum on the table."
"Put out the lights?" he said, rising, with his peculiar nervous movement of the fingers to the lips.
"At once."
Mr. Cheever, in rising, met the glance of his wife, and the look of questioning and wonder that passed did not escape the others.
"But, my dear Mrs. Kildair," cried Nan Charters, with a little nervous catch of her breath, "what is it? I'm getting terribly worked up."
"Miss Lille," said Mrs. Kildair's undeviating voice of command, while Beecher placed his hand firmly over his companion's, which had begun to open and shut in nervous tension.
The journalist, more composed than the rest, had watched the proceedings from that shadowy calm which had made her presence almost unnoticed. Now, as though forewarned by professional instinct that something sensational was hanging on the moment, she rose quietly with almost a stealthy motion.
"Put the candelabrum on this table—here," said Mrs. Kildair, after a long moment's confrontation. She indicated the large round table on which the punch-bowl was set. "No, wait. Mr. Bloodgood, first clear off the table, cover and all; I want nothing on it."