“I see we are the first to arrive,” he said in a loud, cheery tone.
“Mother,” whispered Herbert, “we must keep up appearances, at all costs.”
“I’ll try to, darling,” said Mrs. Heywood, clasping his arm for a moment.
Herbert made a desperate effort to be hopeful.
“Clare is sure to be back in a few minutes. We’re frightening ourselves for nothing.... I shall have something to say to her to-night when the guests are gone.”
Mrs. Heywood’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked at her son as though she knew that Clare would never come back.
“My poor boy!” she said.
“Play the game, mother,” said Herbert. “For Heaven’s sake play the game.”
He had no sooner whispered these words than Mr. and Mrs. Atkinson Brown entered the room, having taken off their outdoor things. Mr. Brown was a tall, stout, heavily built man with a bald head and a great expanse of white waistcoat. His wife was a little bird-like woman in pink silk. They were both elaborately cheerful.
“Hulloh, Heywood, my boy!” said the elderly man.