At eight o'clock I was in the reception-room awaiting the arrival of my guests, and as I surveyed myself in the long mirror, I felt a thrill of pleasure at finding myself again a part of the social world.
After all there are two sides to life—the serious and the gay—and we must mingle them to get the most out of it. For a long time now I had known the serious side, but the release from the service on the case and the ride and encounter of the afternoon had awakened in me a longing for the brighter side that I had no disposition to deny.
When Davis entered with his cheery way and cordial greeting I was more than usually glad to see him and we fell as readily into our accustomed easy intercourse as though it had never been interrupted by a tragedy. A few minutes later Littell and Van Bult appeared and our party was complete.
I advanced to Littell as he appeared, eager to welcome him, but he had stopped on the threshold and while rolling a cigarette between his deft fingers was inquiring casually of Davis concerning the latest bit of social scandal as if he had no more serious thought in the world. A few hours had sufficed to remove every sign of care and fatigue that I had observed in the morning.
Van Bult in the meanwhile had sauntered over to the fireside, and, leaning on the mantle, was looking from one to the other of us with that rare smile that helped to make him so attractive.
I was proud of my friends as I stood in their midst and reflected that it would be hard to find three better dressed, better appearing men than those. They were gentlemen, all of them, not by assertion or imitation, but because it was inherent in them. And the atmosphere they created was reposeful and agreeable.
When dinner was announced, we adjourned to the private dining-room I had reserved and were received by my old servitor, Brown, standing ceremoniously at the door, and I think he was as pleased as any one over the reunion. His bow to each of us as he passed the frosted martinis was almost a salaam, and no dish was served till it had passed under his critical eye, and no bottle uncorked till he had tried its temperature with solicitous touch.
We were a pleasant party of old friends together as we sat down that night, with mutual interests and associations to talk over, and the conversation drifted from one topic to another, in easy sequence.
The boyish gayety of Davis was infectious, and drew out the brightest side of Van Bult's nature, though in the sober tone habitual to him, while Littell's side fire of cynical, humorous comment gave a keener edge and point to all that was said.
After the coffee and the cigars had been brought and Brown had retired, our talk took a more serious turn and eventually passed to the subject of the trial, which by tacit understanding had been avoided before. I would very willingly have let things continue as they had been and have ignored the subject altogether, but it was not to be. It was evidently on all minds and would not be avoided. Some one referred to it and immediately all else lost interest. The witnesses and their evidence; the bearing of the prisoner; the division of the jury, and the arguments of counsel, were each discussed in turn; till finally Davis, in his irreverent way, inquired of Littell if he flattered himself the jury had believed the fairy tale he had told them.